


Glitter & Gold

by seeyouspacecowgirl



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Ableism, Alex Manes Needs a Hug, Alien Abduction, Alien Culture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Alex Manes, Big Damn Hero Michael Guerin, Consent Issues, Domestic Violence, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, Handwaving of science, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Imprisonment, Kidnapping, M/M, Michael Guerin Needs a Hug, Mutilation, Non-Chronological, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Stalking, Stockholm Syndrome, Time Skips, Torture, Unreliable Narrator, handwaving of politics, season two does not exist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:14:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 256,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23137513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seeyouspacecowgirl/pseuds/seeyouspacecowgirl
Summary: Michael is tired of the universe keeping them apart, and this time he's going to fight tooth and nail to beat it. Alex is just plain tired, but a four year captivity on an alien planet will do that to a person.
Relationships: (past) Michael Guerin/Maria DeLuca, Alex Manes/Original Male Character(s), Maria DeLuca/Isobel Evans, Max Evans/Liz Ortecho, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Rosa Ortecho/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 370
Kudos: 219





	1. we knew this was a possibility

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, RNM fans. Been writing this fic on and off since S1 ended and though (between work and familial obligations) it's only about halfway finished I've decided to finally create an account and post it. A few things you should know before reading or you might be annoyed:  
>  1) atm I have no intention of watching S2; I don't like the writing but I love these characters, so here I am.
> 
> 2) I started writing this in random parts as they came to me and decided to keep it that way rather than put them in chronological order, though I'll eventually list the "correct" order if anyone wants to read it that way.
> 
> 3) I hate Michael/Maria as a pairing, so it's just gonna be skimmed over but there will be NO Maria bashing here! (she and Michael will however, have to face consequences and make amends for that BS they pulled in the finale bc wtf you don't do that to someone, especially someone you love)
> 
> 4) I'm a very mean author, everyone is going to go through hell BUT I swear there will be a happy ending
> 
> 5) POV's will switch, basically everyone is an unreliable narrator but especially Alex, in some chapters more than others
> 
> 6) Alex's implication that Flint is being blackmailed made me think he deserves redemption and idc whether that holds true in canon lol
> 
> aaand 7) I'm sorry these notes took so long and if you're still here I hope you enjoy the fic lmao

“The portal’s trying to open itself,” Max announces.

The silence that follows is crushing as they each try to process what that means for them. It feels like they’ve had a thousand meetings like this over the years, gathered together in the Crashdown in the hours before dawn. Sharing what they’d learned individually, brainstorming, putting puzzle pieces together. The last one had been Michael’s favorite. Optimistic and confident, one last discussion before they put in motion their plan to fix their broken family.

The plan had worked, too. They’re whole again, more or less. There’s still plenty of healing to do, but at least they’re all together. They can finally move forward. They have the whole world in front of them, or so they thought. Now the rug is being pulled out from under them and Michael isn’t sure he can handle it. Not again.

It’s Isobel who finally breaks the silence. Eyes wide and fear dripping from every word she asks, “How?”

“I don’t know,” Max answers honestly.

“But I,” Isobel shakes her head, “I thought it _couldn’t_ be opened again. We destroyed the power source.”

“We destroyed the _human_ components,” Max reminds her. “The generators and the batteries are gone. It’s the pods that are the problem. They can’t be turned off or damaged. And we can’t move them, so there’s nothing to stop them from powering it.”

“Are you sure, Max?” Maria asks. “I mean, that the portal is opening?”

“Not opening,” Max corrects, “ _trying_ to open. And yes, I’m sure. I can feel it, like ...like something banging on a locked door.”

“So it’s them,” Isobel says. “Great.”

“If he comes back through what’re we ...what’re we gonna do?” Rosa asks, panic rising in her chest. She cups her hands over her mouth in fear as she goes on, “If he, if he comes back and he brings help with him ...”

“Okay,” Kyle says slowly, “we knew this was a possibility. We knew that even after it was closed the portal would never be totally gone. Michael made that very clear. It was risky but we did it, and I don’t think anyone here regrets it. Now we have to work out a plan for moving forward.” He pauses a moment, trying to find exactly the right wording. There’s nothing medical about the situation but he’s in full doctor mode. Explaining to a patient that the benefits of their surgery will far outweigh the side effects. “So, what else do we know?”

“Not much,” Max admits. “I can feel the pressure in my head but it’s still pretty weak. If it does start to open, I think _maybe_ I can force it closed again but I’m not sure.”

Liz sighs, “Even if you can, there’s no guarantee they won’t just open it right up again. You can’t hold it closed forever.”

“What if we put lead around the pods?” Rosa suggested. “Would that block their energy? Like for an X-Ray?”

“And where exactly are we gonna get that much lead?” Kyle asks.

“I don’t know,” Rosa replies, “don’t you have lead at the hospital?”

“I can’t just go stealing from the hospital,” Kyle says. “And even if I could, there’s not nearly enough to cover all three pods.”

Maria shrugs and asks, “Could it cover _one_? That might slow things down a little, buy us some time.”

“Hold on,” Isobel interrupts, “would lead even block the pods’ energy?”

“I have no fucking clue,” Michael says, knowing that the question was meant for him. “I’ve never had to worry about _disabling_ them before. We could _try_ it, I guess, but I really don’t know if it’ll do anything.”

“Were any of you listening when I said I can’t get us a bunch of lead?” Kyle asks.

“I’ll take care of the lead,” Flint offers. “I don’t think it’ll work, but it can’t hurt, right? In the meantime we should really come up with something more likely to _actually_ work.”

“We could use the pollen,” Liz says. “We sprinkle it around the pods, put some in between them. Disable anyone who comes through, if it comes to that.”

“Have a shit ton of serum ready,” Michael adds. 

Flint shakes his head, “If it comes down to a real fight, we’re not gonna win it. We’re outnumbered and outclassed. Just _one_ person was enough to outdo all of you, if he comes back with reinforcements ...there’s really nothing we can do about it. Our _only_ chance is to make sure they don’t come through in the first place. And even that might be useless, since the portal isn’t the only way they can get here.”

“It’s the fastest way, though,” Isobel comments.

“That doesn’t really mean anything. They might not even be planning to use it, this whole thing could just be a distraction. They could be preparing …” Flint trails off, knowing what he has to say won’t go over well.

“An invasion force,” Michael finishes for him. “That’s what you’re going for, right?”

Not too long ago he’d have thrown him across the room for suggesting that. Now, though, things are different. He’s seen firsthand what his people are capable of. Understands at least a little of what his mother was trying to protect him from. Why they fled. 

Even so, Flint has the decency to at least look guilty about it, “Sorry. I’m just going with what I know.”

“Let’s not jump to any conclusions,” Max instructs. “Right now, let’s just focus on the _immediate_ problem.”

The night goes on that way, ideas being offered and discarded. The sun is starting to rise when they decide to call their meeting to an end with very little in the way of a solution. Michael hates that the whole thing almost makes him wish they hadn’t eliminated Project Shepherd. The idea of putting an alien-proof barrier around the entire planet is suddenly tempting, if only for one reason.

“Hey,” Flint takes him aside as everyone starts to file out and keeps his voice low. “How’s he doing?”

Michael looks over his shoulder to the very last stool at the far end of the counter. Alex sits quietly, facing the windows across from him, exactly as he’s been the entire time. His posture is _proper_ , to be sure; his back straight, chin parallel to the floor, thighs pressed together and hands folded neatly in his lap. Still, he lacks the militant perfection he’d held himself with before. Alex sits now less like he’s been through basic training and more like he’s been to charm school. There’s almost no expression on his face—not _quite_ the thousand-yard-stare, but something close to it. If he’s been listening to anything they’ve said, he gives no indication.

He’s listening, Michael is sure of that. He’d made the mistake of assuming otherwise in the first weeks after bringing him home. Assumed he was dazed, lost deep in his own mind and oblivious to the goings-on around him. They all had. How could they not, when all he does is sit quietly and stare blankly ahead of him? When he only reacts when directly spoken to, and even then just barely? It was eleven days after his release from the hospital when Michael discovered that Alex isn’t dazed after all, he’s just waiting. 

***

It was an offhand remark to Max made over the phone one morning about how he didn’t have time to talk. Isobel would be at the cabin in less than an hour for _brunch_ and he still had to shower and set the table and fold two baskets of clean laundry _and_ make the bed or she’d chew him out the second she got there. 

Alex had been sitting on the couch, quiet and still. Michael, certain that wouldn’t change anytime soon, had opted to check showering off the list first. The only way into the bathroom was through the bedroom—meaning Isobel was almost guaranteed to see the bed at some point during her visit—and Michael figured he’d half-ass making the bed on the way back out afterward. He’d hide the laundry in the bunker beneath the coffee table if he needed to and maybe, just _maybe_ he’d finally be able to set the table to Isobel’s standards. Not likely, but he could try. 

Twenty minutes later and he’d stepped out of the bathroom—clean and dressed and curls _mostly_ tamed—to find the bed made so perfectly he’d actually been tempted to test if he really could bounce a coin on the sheets. For a moment he’d just stood there, trying to figure out if he’d made the bed himself and somehow forgotten. He’d been just as surprised walking back into the kitchen to see the table set neatly, exactly the way Isobel did when his attempts to do so didn’t quite measure up. Exactly the way she’d done it when she’d come over for brunch one week prior. The laundry baskets, which had been sitting beside the couch for three days, were empty and tucked neatly in the corner by the fireplace, one inside the other. Alex was exactly where Michael had left him.

“Alex,” he’d asked, hesitant, “did, did you do the laundry and the table and everything?”

Alex had looked up at him quizzically and nodded. He didn’t seem to understand why Michael was even asking him that.

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that.” Michael had said. He’d known immediately they were the wrong words. 

Alex’s body had tensed and his face had tightened. A slight tremor ran through him as he’d sunk into himself. He’d been scared; scared that he’d unwittingly crossed some boundary and that Michael would be angry with him. Wide eyes had stared up at him, awaiting repercussion.

“It’s okay,” Michael had hurriedly continued and stepped to his side to rub his shoulder gently, “it’s fine. That was really nice of you, man, really. You just didn’t have to do it. I mean, unless you wanted to. It, it’s your place, after all, you do what you want. Okay?”

Relaxing only slightly, Alex had nodded, and Michael had cursed his entire home planet.

***

Michael’s been more careful since then about how he talks around Alex. Has made sure they all know to be careful. Careful not to talk about the state of things and how worried everyone is in front of him, not wanting him to try and act like he was better just to please them. And he’s careful not to say anything about what work he needs to get done, lest Alex misunderstand it for an order. He understands that Alex probably just wants to feel useful but he’s supposed to be resting, not working. Supposed to be readjusting to life on Earth and reclaiming his freedom. Not acting like a damn servant.

Instead Michael talks to him about anything and everything else. Fills him in on everything he’s missed. There’s plenty to talk about; four years is a long time, after all. Like Rosa, twenty-four now and finally properly back in the world. People may _think_ she’s thirty-four but it’s easy for them to overlook her acting like a twenty-something when they believe she was held prisoner for a decade. Now she’s two full years sober and sees a therapist twice a week, content in letting him think her talk of “aliens” is just a metaphor. She’s taking the art classes she always wanted to at a community school. Saving up money working at the Crashdown to travel someday. At least, if poor Arturo can bear to let her out of his sight for more than a few hours. Not that anyone can blame him.

It had actually been Alex’s plan five years ago to claim she’d been kidnapped all that time, that it was some other innocent girl in the car that night. It was hard to dispute; the casket had been closed and Arturo and Jim Valenti had been the ones to identify her body. With the extent of the burns and the glaring error regarding her appendix in the autopsy, it seemed logical enough. 

They’d put the blame where it belonged—on Noah. Revealed him for what he was; a stalker and a murderer. Gave justice to each of his victims, making the claim that he’d used some unknown poison that just didn’t show up on the toxicology reports. They’d told a mostly true story about how he’d stalked Rosa and murdered Kate and Jasmine when he’d kidnapped her. That he’d planted the third girl so no one would look for Rosa. That Isobel had become suspicious on the night of the gala and questioned him. That he’d confessed everything to her and tried to kidnap her, only stopped by Max’s timely interference. That he’d fled town. He was presumed dead when his car was found overturned in the desert with no sign of him. To this day Alex had never told any of them what he’d actually done to get rid of Noah’s body. 

The whole ordeal had depended largely on Isobel _convincing_ people that the finer details—including how young Rosa still looks—weren’t truly worth looking into, but it had worked. Rosa finally has a life. Michael is sure to emphasize how huge a role Alex has played in that. Rosa does the same. She thanks Alex all the time. Hugs him and kisses his face sweetly, tells him about all the progress she’s made. Promises to help him reclaim his own life. Arturo and Liz are the same, always thanking him for his part in giving them their Rosa back. Alex always offers them a weak smile, returns their hugs with a hint of uncertainty. It’s not that he isn’t happy for them, Michael thinks. He most definitely is. It’s more like he doesn’t understand why they’re thanking him, doesn’t think he’s deserving of so much gratitude. 

There are plenty of other stories to tell. Max’s numerous botched attempts at proposing to Liz. Michael’s gotten through four of them; only two more before he reaches the night Liz asked him instead. Kyle and Jenna’s disastrous date, which had only happened in the first place because Isobel wouldn’t stop playing matchmaker. Her well meaning insistence may not have landed them in an epic romance, but at least it had gotten them both laid. 

Michael isn’t sure when or how he should tell Alex about Isobel and Maria. It’s certainly a good story, one that started with Michael walking into his sister’s house unannounced and ended with him vowing to use the doorbell for the rest of his natural life. Then came Michael assuring Isobel he wasn’t mad at her for falling for his ex and assuring Maria that falling for two humanoid aliens didn’t make her a monster fucker. Both of them assuring him that it was no fling. Not that he needed to be told that one. The glow in them is brighter than anything he’d seen from either before. Greater than what Michael had been for Maria. Much, much greater than what Noah had been for Isobel. It reminds him of Max and Liz. Of him and Alex, before that tragedy in the toolshed.

Alex is responsible for their happiness as much as he is for Rosa’s. He’s the only reason they began bonding in the first place. And Michael has no doubt he’ll be happy for them. After all, why wouldn’t he be? Maria is one of his best friends and though he’s never been particularly close to Isobel, they’d developed a strong sense of camaraderie in the months before his kidnapping. But he’s not sure if it's a good idea to bring up Maria and relationships right now. Not with the state Alex had been in four years ago when they’d all left off. And certainly not with Alex in the state he’s in now.

Michael tells him how much he’s grown over the years too. How he’s become the go-to guy for just about any repair work needed around town and he’s been debating whether or not to try and make it into an official business. The fact that he’s managed to control his vices at last helps; he only drinks occasionally now, and he’s learned how and when to cut himself off. Acetone is only for especially hard times; he bought a bottle a month ago and it’s still half full. He’s learned to control his temper, too. Mostly, at least. There’s still the odd outburst, but they’ve become the exception instead of the norm. 

He tells him how he’s taken up photography; what started as helping Rosa out with her class turned into his own hobby. It’s nothing special, he thinks, but he enjoys taking pictures out in the desert. Something about it calms him in a way only music ever has before. He’s a changed man, at least he hopes he is, and that too is because of Alex. For Alex. They would never have gotten him back if Michael was still the same immature, temperamental and sometimes selfish man he’d been before.

Michael shakes his head and rubs his hand over his face with a heavy sigh, “Fuck dude, I have no idea. Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Anything?” Flint asks, looking passed Michael to his brother. “Anything at all? Even, even just …”

“Exactly what you’re seeing, man. He just sits there,” Michael replies. “I mean, we’re trying. We’re all trying, but ...I don’t know, maybe he’s just not ready yet.”

“What about Isobel? When’s the last time she looked for him?”

“When we got here,” Michael says. “And she said it’s exactly the same; there’s too much fog for her to get through.”

Flint takes a step passed him, then hesitates. “Do you think maybe he’ll let me talk to him now?”

“I wouldn’t,” Michael says. “I mean, I’m not gonna stop you, but I don’t think it’ll be any different this time.”

For a moment Flint looks like he might give it a try. Instead he heaves a resigned sigh, “Tell him I love him, okay?”

Michael nods and assures him, “I always do.”

As Flint turns to leave through the back to avoid getting too close to Alex, Michael gives his arm a light squeeze. This whole thing has been hell for all of them, but unlike the rest of them Flint hasn’t been able to reunite with Alex at all. His responses to their affection are always uncertain, confused even, but his shaky smiles and cautious hugs still manage to convey all the love he’s always held for them. He knows them, knows he loves them and—they hope—he knows they love him. With Flint it’s different. He can’t get near him. Alex is visibly afraid every time he tries. He trembles, he whimpers, he backs away and tries to hide. He even cries.

No one knows why Alex is so afraid of his brother. As far as anyone knew, Flint included, they’d begun reconnecting years ago. Sure, there had still been plenty to unpack after their last real conversation. Like how fear had driven Flint to bury every instinct he had to protect his baby brother in favor of protecting himself. Or how he’d stopped trying to intervene and his only attempts to help Alex survive their father became to advise him to just do what he was told. Like Flint’s active role in Project Shepherd. Still, when the true do or die moment came, his love for Alex had won out over his fear of their father, retribution from the remaining three Manes men be damned. Now it seems their one step forward has been replaced with a thousand steps back.

All things considered, Flint handles it surprisingly well. Michael’s pretty sure if Alex reacted that way to _him_ , he’d be a complete mess. But Flint maintains a safe distance, respects Alex’s boundaries. He never comes to the cabin, instead checking up on him by phone. He only sees Alex when several of them are together as a group. Even then, he’s careful to stay far enough away to appease Alex’s fear. He tries, sometimes, to approach him. Slowly, cautiously, always sure to announce himself clearly. Only to start backing away the moment he sees the dread seeping into Alex’s eyes. Flint doesn’t hide how much it hurts, but he doesn’t push him either.

Michael approaches Alex carefully, places a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Hey, you ready to go home?”

Alex looks up at him and studies his face for a moment, assessing what the _correct_ response is. That is, how he thinks _Michael_ wants him to respond. After a moment he nods and slides off the stool. He walks a step behind Michael, hands folded delicately behind him. Though he knows it’s not necessary, Michael opens the door for him and helps him into the truck. Once inside, Alex resumes his usual pose; back straight, legs tight, hands folded. Michael wants to ask him his thoughts on their situation but keeps the questions to himself. It’s not as though Alex will really be able to respond anyway.

“Did you catch all of that?” He asks instead, when they’re halfway back to the cabin.

Alex nods without looking at him.

Michael nods in return, “Good. Let me know if you have anything to add, okay? Anything at all.”

He gets another nod in response. It makes Michael want to scream. Alex has said exactly one word since returning to Earth and since then only converses through gestures. A few times he’s tried writing his thoughts out, only for each attempt to end in frustrated tears. Whether it’s his mind that can’t sort out the words or his hands that can’t construct the letters they can’t be sure, but he’s never managed to get anything written down. Typing is no better. Michael would kill to be able to have a real conversation, but there’s really no other choice but to stick with asking Alex only yes or no questions.

When they get back to the cabin Alex follows Michael inside and stands beside him patiently. It’s always the same. Alex does nothing without being told. He follows Michael devotedly, stands by his side with his hands clasped behind his back. Michael’s pretty sure he’ll stay that way until he simply collapses from exhaustion if he doesn’t tell him otherwise. He eats what and when he’s told, sleeps when he’s told, rises when he’s told. As much as Michael hates it, he’s had to give Alex a handful of standing orders to ensure his health and safety. Orders to rest when he’s tired, eat when he’s hungry, use the bathroom when he needs to. He follows them dutifully, though he does often look to Michael for approval first. Several times Michael has tried to tell him to just do what he _wants_ to do, only for Alex to stare at him in almost frightened confusion. Like he’s afraid he’s being tested, standing at the edge of an inescapable trap. _What I want doesn’t matter_ echoes in Michael’s mind every time.

“You tired?” He asks, helping him out of his jacket. He already knows the answer—Max _did_ wake all of them up for his announcement—but he wants to be sure. He wants Alex to know that he has a say in his own life, that he has a choice. That what he wants _does_ matter. To Michael, if no one else.

With a soft sigh, Alex nods again.

“Okay,” Michael says, rubbing soft circles into his back, “let’s get back to bed, then.”

Hand still on his back, Michael guides Alex into the bedroom. He stands in the doorway while Alex busies himself with removing his prosthetic, trying to find a place between ready to help and overbearing. He’s always been all or nothing when it comes to Alex, a habit he’s trying his hardest to keep from falling back into. Balance, he tells himself over and over, balance will keep them on steady ground. Of course, _that’s_ easier said than done with Alex’s obsessive obedience to him getting in the way.

As Alex settles into the bed, Michael sighs, “Alex.” When his only reply is, as anticipated, an expectant stare, he goes on, “He’s not coming back. He ...he can’t hurt you anymore, okay? I won’t let him near you. If he, if he sets one _foot_ on this fucking planet ever again, I swear to God, Alex, I will kill him. I will explode his fucking _head_. And then Max’ll bring him back to life and I’ll do it again. I promise.”

Alex smiles in return, though it feels more like he’s humoring Michael than actually reassured by his promise.

Taking a step into the small bedroom, Michael leans over and kisses his forehead, “Goodnight, Alex.”

He leaves the door partially open as he backs out of the room. He knows he probably shouldn’t be kissing Alex at all while he’s in this state, even in such an innocent way, but sometimes he can’t help it. He doesn’t know how else to remind him how much he means to him. How much he loves him. Neither of them has ever been particularly good with words anyway.

Once back in the living room he clicks off the lights with his mind, leaving the soft bluish glow from the glitter lamp on Alex’s dresser the only light in the cabin. When he’d discovered that Alex’s ordeal had rendered him terrified of the dark, Michael had been content to simply leave the lights on for him at night. He was more than surprised when Flint, of all people, asked to meet up with him to give him a goddamn glitter lamp. Alex had had one exactly like it when they were young, Flint had explained. He’d given it to him on his fourteenth birthday, and Alex had loved it, apparently. It was the last gift he’d given Alex that he’d put any genuine thought into. Michael wasn’t sure if Alex would want anything from Flint, but if nothing else he seems to enjoy watching the light reflect gently around the room.

Exhausted and worried, Michael climbs onto the couch and tugs his blanket over himself. It’s another attempt at finding balance, sleeping on the couch. Alex can’t be left alone but sharing the bed with him seems so invasive right now. Michael wants him to understand that the cabin is _his_ and Michael is just a guest, not the other way around. No matter what he’s been trained to think in the last four years. Some nights he considers sleeping in the Airstream to reinforce that point—after all, he went through the trouble of getting it onto the property—but the thought of even being that far stops him. He needs to be close in case anything should happen, and he knows Alex will be afraid if he wakes up to find Michael isn’t there. He won’t put him through that again.

So he makes himself comfortable on the couch—and honestly, it _is_ a comfortable couch—and tries not to think about what horrors may lay ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What, more notes? I must be joking, right? lol Anyway here's what Alex's lamp looks like


	2. safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few nights out of Alex's life on Antar, several years in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So chapter one was a little mean, but this one is ...okay, it's meaner. It's basically all Stockholm Syndrome and a bit of hinting at how Alex wound up the way he is now. There is also a brief, vaguely described moment of dub-con (or non-con, because Stockholm Syndrome). To give a proper heads up without spoiling anything, it follows a conversation about moons and lasts two paragraphs. 
> 
> Now let's have a look at what's going on in Alex's head :)

Alex wakes with a scream for the fourth night in a row. Panicked, he tumbles from the bed and hits the floor hard. Darkness closes in on him as he struggles to find his bearings, a useless endeavor when he can see nothing, feel nothing, and hear nothing beyond his own terror. Desperate he tries to stand, forgetting that his prosthetic isn’t on him, and falls again. He wraps his arms around himself in a meaningless effort to keep the darkness at bay. He can’t fight it, can’t escape it. He can only lay there feebly as it moves to consume him.

A soft sigh breaks through the darkness, “Oh, Alex, not _again._ ”

Hands that can't be seen even in the light lift him gingerly off the floor. A fresh wave of fear washes over him for an instant before he’s pulled into arms he'd recognize anywhere. The strong, warm arms of his husband. A relieved whine escaping his lips, Alex clings to him, buries his face against his muscular chest. Enclosed in a tight cage of warmth, he lets his tears fall freely.

The walls that once held him together, that held his emotions deep inside of him, no longer exist. All of his security has long since been torn down, reduced to rubble. He has no need for them. They serve no purpose anymore. His husband is his security now, a far stronger defense than his own had ever been. 

One arm locks him in place as a sturdy hand pets him softly, "Shush now, it's alright. I'm here, Alex, I'm here. You're safe."

Safe. He's safe. He's at home, in his bedroom—where a shining light overhead has chased away the darkness—with his husband. Where he belongs. Not in the hands of an enemy hoping to use him as leverage. Not being dragged through whatever torments his captors could concoct. Not locked in a cage while they gawked at him like some exotic animal. Not in shackles, not in chains. Not in an empty cell with naught but his own demons for company. Not in the Dark Room. He's sitting in his husband's lap, on their bed, wrapped in his arms. The only place on the planet where he truly is safe.

The hand that’s been petting him slides down to take hold of his face. His head is tilted up until he’s looking into magnificent hazel eyes. Eyes that Alex is sure can see into his very soul. A gentle thumb wipes away the tears on one side of his face and warm lips press against his forehead.

“There now,” that velvet voice soothes, “all better.”

With a soft sigh Alex rests his head against a waiting, firm shoulder while his husband runs his fingers down the back of his neck. Traces them over the gold crest embedded between Alex’s shoulder blades.The relief that courses through him is tainted by the shame of having disturbed his husband yet again. This man is the only reason Alex is safe, his only protector, and Alex continues to repay him this way. By dragging him away from matters far more important than Alex’s nightmares, or worse, from his sleep, to comfort him. He knows he should be passed this by now; it’s been three months since he was rescued. He shouldn’t still be screaming himself awake from the nightmares and all the more upon realizing he’s surrounded by darkness in the waking world too.

The Sleeping Syrup he’s given each night helps him to drift off, but no amount of it can _keep_ him asleep. The nightmares sink their claws in night after night and eventually his mind forces itself awake. That alone, he could handle. He could quiet and comfort himself from the nightmares, if only he didn’t wake up in the dark. The all-consuming darkness that threatens to drag him into the endless abyss. He’s no match for that.

Planting a kiss atop Alex’s head, his husband suggests, “Why don’t we go for a little walk?”

Alex nods his agreement, though it hardly matters, and is rewarded with another kiss on his temple. The hand removes itself from his neck and he hears a soft swooshing sound as a cloth is pulled across the room to it. A soft, sheer black robe is draped over Alex’s naked body. It reaches down to his ankle, black feathers adorning the neckline, hemline, and the ends of the sleeves. The fine material is entirely see-through and does virtually nothing to actually hide his body, though that was never its purpose anyway. Even in this warm climate night brings a soft chill with it; delicate though it may be, the light robe is still more than enough to keep the cool air at bay.

Instead of summoning Alex’s prosthetic to him, his husband shifts their position a bit as he stands and scoops him up bridal style. Their bedroom is enormous, with the bed itself on a raised platform against the back wall. Numerous grand windows line the two diagonal walls around the bed, their curtains shut tight for the night. Across from the bed is an elegant sitting area with several luxurious sofas and armchairs in front of a glorious fireplace. There are doors on either side of the fireplace leading out to the antechamber, both of which are undoubtedly being guarded from the other side. A door in the left wall leads to Alex’s closet, alone big enough to fit a house and filled with enough clothing to dress half the planet. Their bathroom—spa, really—is through a door beside that one. The single door on the right side of the room leads to his husband’s private space; his study and his own closet among other things. Alex is not permitted through that door.

A series of tiny lights decorate the ceiling—a planet-wide custom—making it look like a starry sky when the rest of the room is unlit. At the moment, however, the larger, brighter lights built into the ceiling panels are on, lighting the entire room and highlighting all of its fancy furnishings. Art and decorations are placed thoughtfully around the place until every inch of it practically screams royalty.

Not long ago Alex thought awful things about their bedroom. Words like ostentatious and pretentious had come to mind. Now he hates to leave it, unless of course it’s by his husband’s side. Or in his arms, like now. 

Alex is only slightly surprised when he’s not carried out through the bedroom’s main doors, but one neatly hidden among the windows. The outside balcony overlooks his favorite garden, where flowers of colors he’d never imagined before bloom year-round. His husband carries him to the bench and sits down with Alex in his lap.

He pulls Alex against his chest and kisses the back of his neck, “Look up, baby. The moons are all out tonight.”

Alex hums softly in appreciation. He might not have noticed without it being pointed out and it isn’t often that all three moons—one gold, one red, and one a silvery-white—occupy the same space in the sky. They’re all full tonight, shining brightly among the endless sea of stars. Somewhere deep, deep down inside himself Alex idly wonders if one of those stars is Earth.

“I brought them out tonight,” his husband whispers against his neck, “I brought them out just for you, little bunny.”

Those words erase all thoughts of Earth and Alex chides himself for being so selfish. How could he possibly be thinking about another _planet_ at a time like this? Sure, he knows it’s impossible for even this man to actually alter the path of a moon—let alone three—but it was a nice moment nonetheless. Silly playtalk meant to remind him how cherished and protected he is here. Ruining things seems to be his specialty no matter what galaxy he lives in.

“Did _he_ ever give you a moon, Alex? Did he ever _try_?” His husband asks, lips still pressed into his neck. “Did he ever even _offer?_ ”

Swallowing down a whimper, Alex shakes his head meekly. His husband hasn’t brought Michael up in some time now. Not since their wedding, he thinks. That he’s bringing him up now unsettles him. Did he hear Alex’s traitorous wondering?

“I have,” He continues, “I’ve given you three moons and I’ll give you a thousand more. I’ll give you an entire galaxy. I’ll give you every star in the universe. Do you know why?”

Alex shakes his head again.

“Because you’re _mine._ And what’s mine, deserves only the best.”

A hand slides into his robe and between his legs. Alex lets out a soft, content sigh. He’s not in trouble then. His husband is just feeling prideful, showing off. Reminding Alex where he belongs. And that so long as he is _his,_ nothing can harm him. He moans quietly as he’s brought to arousal, his hands grasping lightly at the edge of the bench. He knows it’s not his place to touch—either himself _or_ his husband—unless he’s told. No, his place is wherever his husband puts him, his role to accept whatever his husband gives him. He leans his head back, exposing his neck, knowing that the more vulnerable he is the better his husband likes it. 

His reward is a hand at his throat, squeezing tight and forcing his head further back until his neck is too strained to go anymore. His husband’s mouth claims his own, stealing the last bit of breath from his lips. Alex doesn’t like when he can’t breathe, but this isn’t about what he likes. Aiming for what he wants has only ever lead him to disaster. It’s compliance that has kept him alive throughout his lifetime, has allowed him to protect those he loves. Not rebellion, not resistance. Only through submission has he found peace. He’d learned that in the harshest of ways, but this time he won’t forget it.

Soon enough they return to their bedroom and Alex is carefully placed back into the oversized canopy bed. The curtains, he knows, won’t be closed until he’s asleep—otherwise he’ll just be sent right back into panic. Blankets softer than silk are draped around him and a cup is brought to his lips. He sips the sweet pink tonic, careful not to let even a single drop spill. Once the cup is taken away he rests his head back against the pillows, knowing it won’t be more than a few minutes before he’s pulled back into slumber. He just hopes he won’t wake again until the sun begins to stir in the pale green sky.

***

Terror clutches at Alex once again, but tonight it’s only his mind that wakes. His body still held firm by a drug-induced slumber, he can do nothing to stave off the panic that’s captured him. Muscles refusing to obey, he lays on his back staring up into darkness and for a moment he doesn’t know where he is. Muffled whimpers are all that escape his mouth that won’t open, not nearly loud enough to garner the attention of anyone who can help him. If there even _is_ anyone who can help him.

Tears slide down his face as the minutes tick by. He can hear nothing beyond the pounding of his heart. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to focus, to push through this. Desperately tries to move something, anything. Just one finger. But his body remains useless, paralyzed and trembling. He opens his eyes again in hopes of finding familiar surroundings, but only darkness is there to greet him. He tries to scream through sealed lips but still the sound is too weak to reach anyone. Or if it does, they don’t care.

There are creatures in the darkness. Beings that watch him, delighting in his misery. They feed on his fear, thrive on his pain. The more he struggles the more joy it brings them and they will never release him from this prison. His body shakes as he sobs uselessly, his mind pleading for the mercy of death. Mercy that Alex knows will never come.

The irritated groan that finally reaches his ears is as dreaded as it is relieving, _“Again?”_

There’s movement beside him and suddenly his vision is flooded with light. Irony of ironies, it burns his eyes and he’s forced to squeeze them shut once more. 

“Alex, this has to _stop._ ”

Behind his eyelids he can see the lights dimming. He blinks slowly until his husband’s face comes into view. 

“This is _five nights_ in a row,” He scolds. He’s sitting up next to Alex, looking down on him impatiently. “How long are you going to keep doing this? This can’t go on.”

Calmer now, Alex tries to control himself. He’s still immobile but he knows where he is at least. He looks up at his husband pleadingly, begging for help with muffled whines. He wants so badly to be held, but there is no comfort tonight. There are no gentle touches. No warm embrace, no soothing words. All he gets from his husband is a loud yawn and another groan. Alex has disrupted his sleep tonight.

“What am I going to do with you?” He asks himself, ignoring Alex’s anguished attempts to earn his affection. “Maybe more Sleeping Syrup ...no, that could be toxic. You might not wake up at all. It’s too late to erase the memories, but they were probably too deep to erase anyway. I could just put you back in your old room at night …”

Alex sobs in distress at the thought. His old room is nearly as grand as the one they share and were he to sleep there, he could leave the lights on without disturbing his husband. But it’s so far away. Hidden away behind a secret door in the back of his closet, where no amount of screaming will reach his husband’s ears. He’s not safe there, all alone. Still, if that’s what his husband says is best …

“No, I won’t do that,” comes a light sigh. Fingers play with his hair idly, the closest to comfort he’s received all night. “I don’t want you that far from my side.”

Relief courses through him. Almost as if his body feels the same, his muscles finally begin to relax. He’s able to wiggle his fingers, just slightly, and pry his mouth open. He takes a deep, gasping breath.

His husband snickers, “Maybe I should just tie you up before bed, huh? Chain you up nice and tight. Gag you. That’d keep you out of trouble, wouldn’t it? But then, that would be ...awfully distracting in its own way.”

As Alex wills life back into his limbs, his husband traces his fingers lightly over his chest. Entertained by Alex’s struggle, his mood has lifted somewhat.

“Still, we’ve got to do _something_ about this. I can’t keep getting up every night just because you have another nightmare. Let’s see ...if I suppress your thoughts I’d have to stay awake anyway, so that defeats the whole purpose. I could have someone _else_ do it, but I don’t really want anyone else in that pretty little head of yours. Ugh, this is such a pain. Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out. Until then …”

It’s his powers and not his hands that lift Alex upright and finally shakes that last bit of paralysis from him. Alex wraps his arms around himself as his husband slips out of the bed. He hates that he’s woken him again. Hates that he’s upset him. Hates that he can’t just sit still and be quiet like he’s supposed to. 

“Come on, then,” his husband is at his side again with yet another cup of Sleeping Syrup. He holds it to Alex’s mouth, “Drink up.”

Obediently he does just that.

“What I wouldn’t give for some Valium,” his husband remarks. He lays Alex back down, pulls the blanket over him and snorts, “Imagine that. Me, a prince of Antar wishing for off-world medicines. Just look what you’ve done to me, Alex.”

Alex isn’t sure if that’s something he ought to apologize for. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it before his eyes fall shut.

***

Sitting on the bed and awaiting his nightly dose of Sleeping Syrup, Alex looks up in surprise when his husband enters the room suddenly. Busy with some _delicate matter,_ as he so often is, he’d sent Alex to bed alone that night. Alex wasn’t expecting him to join him for some time. The servant preparing the Sleeping Syrup—a middle aged woman whose name Alex isn’t certain of—bows her head respectfully, struggling to hide her worry that he may be angry. He says something to her that Alex cannot understand and she beats a hasty retreat.

“You’re not in trouble,” He says in response to Alex’s curious gaze. “I’m just too damn tired to deal with these imbeciles tonight. I need my bed. And my little bunny.”

Alex nods. He may not understand Antar’s politics, but he does understand having to work with people who just don’t want to listen. He keeps his gaze straight ahead of him as his husband takes over readying the Sleeping Syrup for him.

“You know, Alex,” He begins idly, “I think the solution to our little sleeping problem might be to just clip your vocal cords. Just snip them right out.”

Alex freezes in alarm. He stares wide-eyed at his husband, searching for a sign that he’s joking. 

“Don’t give me that look,” his husband scolds, “you don’t even really _need_ them.”

That much is certain. Losing his vocal cords wouldn’t kill him. And in truth, his voice serves no purpose here. Human words are unwelcome on Antar, especially within the Court. Members of the gentry, in particular, are thoroughly disgusted by any language that isn’t their own. As a _lesser being,_ Alex isn’t allowed to learn their language, either. It’s only within the privacy of their home that Alex has ever been permitted to speak. And he hasn’t done so in months.

Of course, that doesn’t mean he wants to lose the ability altogether. If his vocal cords are removed he won’t be able to make a single sound. There will be no chance of him ever speaking again, ever uttering a syllable. Not even to cry out for help if he needs to. The nightmares will still come, but he’ll be unable to call out. Unable to disturb his husband. But then, that’s the part that matters most. With Alex not waking him up every night, his husband will be able to sleep. His getting a good night’s rest is so much more pressing than Alex’s constant need to be saved from his own mind.

Eyes wet and body shaking, Alex lowers his head and nods weakly. His opinion on the matter is of no importance, but his display of obedience is. Acknowledging that his husband knows best is every bit as significant as following his commands. Simply doing as he’s told is not enough. He must show with every act that he understands and accepts his place. That his thoughts, his feelings, his will itself, are what his husband decides and nothing more.

The snicker that follows startles him, “Oh relax, would you? I’m just kidding.” He joins Alex on the bed and pinches the side of his face lightly, “All these years and you can’t tell when I’m teasing you? Honestly. I’d never mutilate you. Besides,” he tugs Alex into his lap and nips at his neck, “you know how much I love hearing you scream when _I’m_ the one making you do it.”

Feeling more than a little foolish, Alex sighs deeply. _Of course_ it was a joke. How could he have missed that? He wants to apologize, but the words won’t form on his tongue.

“All joking aside, I _do_ think I’ve found a solution, though,” His husband says. 

He presses a glowing palm to Alex’s chest and images begin to flood his mind. Violent, bloody images. Necks twisting, backs breaking. Fingers snapping into pieces. Jaws broken open, teeth ripping free of their gums. Bodies flayed, torn limb from limb. The sounds of bones snapping, joints popping. Screams. The awful, hopeless final screams of the executed.

He’d been told about the massacre at the Deep City, but this is his first time actually experiencing it. His husband has shared the memory of many battles—slaughters—with him before, but this one is different. This one wasn’t about conquering a new territory. This one was about _Alex._ The battle was won. Those enemies that hadn’t escaped were surrendering. His husband had killed them anyway. Butchered them. Retribution for putting their hands on Alex. Punishment for stealing his most prized possession.

Alex is filled with pride and satisfaction. With pure joy at the slaughter. The absolute confidence that follows the fanatical belief of complete and utter rightness. His own feelings of horror and disgust are forced down beneath his husband’s thrill of triumph. He’s trapped in limbo by the conflict, helplessly caught between reactions with no middle ground. Alex’s mind and body are overtaken by bliss, even as his soul reminds him that there were innocent people among the slaughtered. Innocent people who knew nothing of what went on behind closed doors. As always his broken soul doesn’t stand a chance and he loses himself in the ruthless ecstasy.

“Do you see it? Do you _feel_ it? This is what I did for you, little bunny. _This_ is what becomes of _anyone_ who touches you. You are _mine._ And as long as you’re mine, you’re safe. No one can ever come near you. Do you understand that?”

Barely grasping a word, Alex nods.

“Say it, Alex,” the command brings his focus back. “I want to hear you say it. Safe.”

His mouth opens and closes several times, useless.

_“Say it,”_ his husband repeats. “You are _safe._ ”

Swallowing hard, Alex focuses his entire being on the word. “S, s …”

_“Safe.”_

“S-sa ...sa,s-sa ...fe. _Safe._ ” He’s breathless, exhausted as the word finally leaves his lips.

His husband holds his chin, forcing him to look him in the eye, “That’s right. You’re safe. And that means no more of these nightmares. No more screaming. You know who you belong to, and you know what that means. There’s no reason for fear.”

“Safe,” Alex breathes again. “Safe.”

The nightmares don’t leave him. New ones emerge, filled with the horrors of the atrocity committed in his name. But now as Alex wakes in terror, the handprint glowing on his chest keeps him grounded. The memory and his husband’s feelings from it grip him tight, remind him where he is. The nightmares don’t go anywhere, but at least now Alex is able to quiet himself without waking his husband. After all, he’s safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The robe that Alex wears:


	3. murder barn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex and Michael visit a shady place in hopes of finding something that will help bring Max back to life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who lost her job due to quarantine! Fun times T_T
> 
> Anyway, think I'm gonna _**try**_ to post a new chapter every Saturday, how does that sound? Let me know lol
> 
> This chapter is both Alex and Michael's POVs and neither one is good at actually understanding the other right now. TW for stalking.

“Nope,” Alex says plainly. His tone carries the simplicity of stating a fact, as if telling someone he’s never seen the movie they’re asking about.

“No what?” Michael asks.

“Not going in there,” Alex replies. “Nope.”

“This is the place,” Michael says. “This is where Noah’s map leads to.”

It had been an accident, finding the map. In an effort to save time, Liz had placed Max’s body in Noah’s pod rather than trying to get him back to the other three and they hadn’t considered moving him since. It seemed fitting that he be kept in the same pod as Rosa. At first Michael had refused to visit, unwilling to face what he knew he’d see. When he finally did his temper got the better of him as usual. He’d shaken the entire cavern with his rage as he screamed at his brother, until he uncovered a second cavern hidden behind the pod. It was a small space that Noah had hidden well, with only a few items inside. A stash of money, all the documents he’d have needed to change his identity and an encoded map. And most importantly, two fragments of the console. 

They don’t know what the map leads to—more pieces of the console is his greatest hope—but Michael is confident it’ll help them. Or maybe a secret trove of artifacts that will help him learn more about their heritage. So when Alex had approached him late that very morning with the news that he’s deciphered the location marked on it, Michael had practically dragged him into his truck. Max has been dead for nearly five months and the console is close to being finished. If the remaining pieces of it are here, they can try out Liz’s plan to resurrect him. Michael doesn’t understand why Alex is apparently backing out now.

“I know,” Alex says, “but I’m not going in there.”

Michael stares at him for a long moment before asking, “Why ...not?”

Alex fixes him with a hard look, “Guerin, do you know what that _is_?”

He glances out the window, half expecting to notice some huge details he somehow missed a moment ago. When nothing of significance pops out at him, he turns back to Alex, “It’s a barn.”

“It’s a _murder_ barn,” Alex corrects him.

“What ...the fuck is a _murder barn_?” Michael questions.

“Uh, it’s a barn. Where people get murdered.”

“Alex.”

“Nope.”

_“Alex.”_

_“No.”_

“It’s just a barn, Alex,” Michael insists.

“A murder barn,” Alex repeats.

“Oh my God, it’s a _fucking barn._ It’s an old, abandoned barn. Yes, it’s a little creepy, but that’s because it’s an _old abandoned barn._ There’s no one in there and no murders.”

“And that’s exactly what a _murderer_ would want you to think,” Alex counters.

Michael shakes his head, “I don’t believe you. You have survived _literal explosions_ and you’re afraid of a barn?”

“No, I am not afraid of a barn. I am concerned about the _murderers_ that are _in_ the barn,” Alex clarifies.

“Murder _ers_?” Michael scoffs. “Now there’s more than one?”

“Are you kidding me?” Alex points to the decrepit barn they’re parked only a few feet away from. “That place is a _convention center_ for serial killers!”

“You’re a soldier, Alex,” Michael reminds him, “and I have telekinesis. I think we can handle it.”

“Famous last words,” Alex says. “I’m not going in there. And neither should you.”

“And what? Just give up? Noah wouldn’t have taken the time to mark this place on his map if there wasn’t something important here.”

“I agree. Which is why we should have brought more people with us. And made sure _other_ people knew where we’d be, in case we get murdered,” Alex says. “We should turn back now and come back tomorrow.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind? Max’s been dead for five months, Alex, _five months._ We can’t wait any longer!”

“It’s not safe,” Alex insists.

Michael rolls his eyes, “Then fucking call Valenti and tell him to get his dumb ass out here.”

“I can’t, I don’t have any service out here.”

Michael checks his own phone. Sure enough, he doesn’t have any service either. It makes sense given that they’re currently in the middle of absolutely nowhere. The barn—the _murder_ barn, apparently—can’t even be seen from the main road. It would be an excellent setting for a horror movie. And, admittedly, the perfect place to commit a murder. But he’s not turning back now just because Alex is a little paranoid.

He gets out of the truck with an impatient huff, “Fine. Stay here then.”

Alex crosses his arms, “I will.”

“Yeah, stay out here, alone. By yourself. Outside the _murder barn._ Without the superpowered alien who can move things with his _brain._ While I take the goddamn keys with me. Have fun with that.”

Alex watches as Michael slams the door behind him and marches toward the barn. The murder barn. The _obvious_ murder barn. Michael may be a genius, but at least Alex has some common sense. He’d been expecting the map to lead them to another cave somewhere, not a run down old barn where there’s clearly been at least half a dozen people killed. Even when he’d thought they’d find a cave, he’d wanted to at least let someone else know where they were going. But Michael had insisted on going right then and there and Alex had been too busy directing him to remember to text Kyle about what they were doing.

Still, Michael has a point about one thing. If there is someone dangerous hiding out in the barn—and, okay, _maybe_ he’s being a little ridiculous about that likelihood—it’ll definitely be safer for them to stick together. Separating never does anyone any good in horror movies, after all. He groans and snatches his backpack off the floor before getting out of the truck.

“If we get murdered,” He begins, rushing to catch up with Michael, “you owe me until the end of time.”

Michael laughs, “I swear I will protect you if Leatherface shows up.”

“You’re not funny, Guerin,” Alex protests.

“Yes I am,” Michael says, using his powers to break the chain holding the barn doors shut. He’s not at all surprised to find that behind them is an ordinary, abandoned barn. “Wow, look at all the murder in here.”

“Shut up.”

The place is certainly falling apart, but there’s nothing unusual about it. The floor is covered in hay and the walls are lined with old, long forgotten equipment. Every inch of the place is covered in a thick coating of dust. There’s a pile of wood in one corner and a rusted, broken down tractor in another. A handful of shelves and crates are against the walls, any one of which could easily be hiding Noah’s last secrets.

Going through them all takes time. They’re filled with a seemingly endless parade of junk. Books and papers too worn out to read, long faded clothing, old tableware, aged camping equipment. Nothing remotely alien, nothing even indicating the place is anything but a barn left behind long ago.

“I don’t get it,” Michael says. “There’s nothing here. Are you _sure_ this is the place? Maybe you read the map wrong.”

“I didn’t read the map wrong. This is the place,” Alex replies.

“There’s nothing _here,_ ” Michael snaps, the chest-of-drawers beside him cracking in half with his frustration.

“I _know_ there’s nothing here, Guerin. I can see that,” Alex is trying to stay calm, but he’s just as annoyed about this dead end as Michael is. “But I am telling you, this is the place Noah marked on the map. I don’t know, maybe ...maybe he already found whatever was here. Maybe it was one of the fragments you found in his cave. Or ...or maybe what we’re looking for isn’t _in_ the barn. We should check the surrounding land, maybe we’re missing something.”

Michael sighs, “Yeah, yeah okay.” He nods to the loft overhead, “I’m gonna check up there real quick first.”

Alex looks at the ladder that appears ready to crack in half at the slightest bit of weight, “That doesn’t look very steady.”

“Do you _ever_ stop worrying?” Michael asks, starting up the ladder anyway.

“No.”

The total honesty of Alex’s reply makes Michael pause for just a moment. He’s not joking around, not even a little. Michael’s not sure how to feel about that. About Alex actually being in a constant state of worry underneath that collected exterior. That definitely can’t be healthy. Has he added to that worry with all his pressuring him to decipher Noah’s map? By reminding him over and over that Max’s life may depend on it?

No. No time for that now. He can’t stop to think about it, not when they’re so damn close to finding what they need—maybe. He’ll have plenty of time to convince Alex to lighten up later.

He sighs in heavy disappointment when the loft is completely empty of anything but dust and hay. As far as he could tell from the outside, there are no other structures around the barn. Not even a well. If Alex is right about whatever’s here—if anything even _is_ —then they’re probably going to wind up digging. And there’s no telling how long that could take.

“Anything?” Alex calls from below.

“Yeah,” Michael shouts back, “there’s a whole other spaceship up here!”

“Wait, really?”

_“No,”_ Michael practically spits in sarcasm. “It’s a fucking empty-ass loft in a stupid old barn.”

Alex huffs in annoyance. He understands that Michael’s disappointed but there’s no need to be such a dick about it. It’s not Alex’s fault that this probably-haunted-by-dozens-of-innocent-victims barn has nothing to offer them. He’s just the messenger; Noah was the one who made a map to the damn place. In fact _all_ of this is Noah’s fault. If he hadn’t murdered Rosa in the first place, Max would never have died resurrecting her. Alex would kill the son of a bitch if Max hadn’t beaten him to it.

“You coming or not?” Michael asks, standing in the doorway.

Alex, looking over the old tractor, nods, “Yeah, I’ll be right …” He pauses and stares down at the ground. There’s something not quite right about the floor beneath the tractor, though he can’t exactly put his finger on what. Carefully he crouches down until he can sweep aside some of the hay to get a better look. Instead of old, rotting wood, he feels metal beneath his hand. “Guerin, come here for a second.”

“What?”

“Can you move this?” Alex asks when Michael reaches him.

“What for?”

“There’s something under it,” Alex explains. “See? Right here.”

He stands up and steps aside to give Michael space to move the tractor out of the way. The hay comes next and before long they’re both staring at a trapdoor built into the floor. It’s padlocked shut and Michael makes quick work of the lock before prying the door open. Under it is a metal staircase leading into nothing but darkness.

“Is this murdery enough for you?” Alex demands.

“It’s probably just a storm cellar,” Michael retorts.

“In a barn? With a lock on it?”

“You humans do weird things,” Michael comments.

Alex scoffs, “Because you three have never done anything weird.”

“Whatever. Let’s just keep going,” Michael says, starting down the stairs and pulling out his phone for light.

Alex grabs his arm and yanks him back, “Are you insane? Bad enough we came in here in the first place, now you wanna go into the creepy underground room? This is obviously where the murders happen!”

Michael pulls his arm free and continues downward, “You’re being ridiculous, Alex. And I’m done talking about this.”

With a groan Alex digs through his backpack for a pair of flashlights and follows him, “Put your phone away and take this.”

“Thanks, Private,” Michael teases, taking the offered flashlight.

“Airman,” Alex corrects.

Michael ignores him. The room they enter is small, its walls lined with shelves. Each shelf is filled with bottle upon bottle of wine. Standing in the middle of the small area, Michael clicks his tongue and turns to Alex, who’s still lingering at the bottom of the stairs. “A wine cellar. It’s a wine cellar, Alex. So murdery.”

“It is if there’s amontillado hidden down here. Anyway, why would someone hide a wine cellar like this? We’re missing something.”

“What we’re missing is that Noah clearly planted that stupid map just to fuck with us,” Michael complains. “This whole trip is just his last laugh.”

Alex shakes his head, “There’s no reason he’d have done that. He was way too confident to think he’d ever lose to you guys.”

“To Max,” Michael grumbles, remembering how he’d lasted less than two minutes against Noah. He’d barely even been good enough to serve as a distraction.

“Huh?”

“Nevermind.”

“No, I didn’t _hear_ you,” Alex says.

“Yeah, I know. Forget it.”

Alex sighs, “Fine, whatever. Let’s get out of here, okay? We can come back tomorrow with more people and investigate this place more thoroughly.”

“Or we can burn it to the fucking ground,” Michael remarks bitterly. He yanks a bottle of wine off the shelf across from the stairs and forces the cork out with his powers, “One for the road.”

“You’re not seriously going to drink that.”

“You’re not seriously asking me that,” Michael retorts, taking a swig from the bottle. He’s barely got a mouthful in before he coughs in surprise, spitting it back out without meaning to.

“What the hell, Guerin?” Alex demands. “Are you fucking _five?_ ”

“It’s not wine,” Michael explains. 

“What is it?” Alex asks, not missing the alarmed look on Michael’s face.

Michael stares at the bottle in his hand for a moment, then looks back at Alex, “It ...it’s fucking nail polish remover.”

“What? Are, are you sure?”

Michael takes another drink from the bottle, this time actually swallowing its contents. “Yup, I’m sure.”

“Okay,” Alex hesitates for a moment, trying to figure out some explanation. “So maybe this place was like ...Noah’s personal collection of acetone?”

“We’re like two hours into the middle of nowhere,” Michael says. “Why wouldn’t he just keep it in his cave?”

“I don’t know, maybe ...or, or maybe it’s not Noah’s! Maybe this place belonged to …” Alex trails off, unsure if he ought to say it or not. His theory might only upset Michael further. That’s the last thing Alex wants, though it certainly seems to be his greatest skill.

“Someone else,” Michael finishes for him. “Another alien. Another survivor.”

Alex nods, keeps his voice soft, “Maybe it was someone who escaped from ...maybe they settled here, started up their own little farm and hid out.”

“Then where are they?” Michael asks. “Why aren’t they still here?”

“Nineteen forty-seven was a long time ago. They ...they could’ve just …” Died. Alex doesn’t want to say it. Doesn’t want to be telling Michael that there could’ve been someone else like him so close for so long who’s gone now. Again. And if they didn’t die of natural causes, the next most likely option is that they were eventually captured. Imprisoned. Tortured. By Alex’s family. Just another blood stain he needs to scrub off his hands. They’re coated so thickly now he’s not sure a lifetime is enough to clean them. Especially when his every attempt to do so somehow leads to Michael being in even more pain.

Michael, whose pain inevitably escapes him as anger, kicks the shelf, _“Fuck!”_

Around them, several of the bottles shatter, throwing shards of glass around the room. Instinctively, Alex covers his face with his arms to keep from getting cut. Michael just slams his fist into the shelf and curses again, though the surviving bottles remain intact. He storms passed Alex, back up the stairs.

“Guerin …” Alex tries to call after him, but what can he really say? Once again he’s gotten Michael’s hopes up only to crush them. One of these days, he thinks, he’ll learn his lesson and stop making things worse by trying to help. Someday, he’ll be a decent enough person to just leave Michael in peace.

As he moves to follow Michael, something behind the shelf on the right wall catches his eye. He steps closer to examine it; it’s a door. A thick, sturdy metal door. Definitely more modern than anything else they’ve found here. And if the electronic keypad is anything to go by, more suspicious too.

Michael has the truck started by the time Alex climbs into the passenger seat, “What the fuck took you so long?”

“There’s a door,” Alex says. “There’s another door hidden down there.”

“What?”

Alex nods, “Yeah. The shelf on the right. Tomorrow we should—Guerin what’re you doing?”

“Fuck does it look like?” Michael’s already killed the engine and is making his way back to the barn.

“No, Guerin, it’s locked,” Alex protests.

“Not for long,” Michael retorts.

Chasing after him, Alex grabs his hand to stop him, “Guerin, _wait._ ”

“Wait for _what,_ Alex?”

“No one goes to this much trouble to hide a door for nothing. It’s not safe.”

 _“I don’t fucking care!”_ Michael screams, yanking his hand back. “In case you’ve forgotten, Max is _dead!_ He’s fucking _dead,_ Alex! If you wanna stand around here and play it safe, _fine._ I don’t care how dangerous it is, if whatever’s behind that door can save him, I’m going for it! I am not wasting another fucking _minute_ that Max _doesn’t have._ ”

He storms off without letting Alex reply. He doesn’t _want_ to be mad at him when he’s only trying to help, but he can’t take another minute of his complaining, his paranoia. Of murder barn this, and it’s not safe that. It’s almost as though he doesn’t even want to save Max.

Okay, maybe Michael’s being a _little_ unfair. Alex is trying his best to be helpful. He’s been working almost non-stop trying to untangle the webs of Project Shepherd and ensure that no one finds out about Michael and his family. Liz has spent hours upon hours going through the research he dug up for them on alien physiology; it may have been obtained in the most inhumane way possible, but she’s certain it’s going to help Max. And somehow, he’s managed to only be angry at Michael twice in the nearly five months he’s been with Maria. Even the first time, walking in on the two of them mid-kiss, all he’d said was _you could’ve just fucking told me._ Three days later he’d shown up at Michael’s door and asked just one question; does Michael love her? He’d accepted the yes with a simple “okay” and since then he’s been acting like they’d never been anything but friends. Hell, he’d even given Michael advice on what to get Maria for her birthday. As for the second time, well, Michael prefers not to think about that day.

It’s not Alex’s fault that things are going wrong today, Michael reminds himself. He just doesn’t get it. He’s never lost someone. He’s never suffered the pain of having a loved one ripped away from him. Never had to sit by helplessly while someone he’d do anything to protect suffers. It’s not just Max that Michael needs to save, either. Isobel’s been drowning, obsessing over honing her new ability. Convinced that if she can grow stronger, it’ll somehow erase the pain Noah caused. Michael can’t get through to her; only Max has a chance to pull her out of the dark. Everything is riding on bringing him back. Alex knows that, but he doesn’t _get it._ He doesn’t understand. And Michael can’t really fault him for that.

The shelf is too heavy to move by hand and Michael has to use his powers to pull it aside. It takes all his concentration to get the locking mechanism to respond. He can feel Alex half a step behind him, wanting to talk him out of it but clearly knowing it won’t work. Instead he just holds his light up, Michael having left his back in the truck. Three minutes of focus and at last the door slides open.

“Are you sure about this?” Alex asks hesitantly.

Michael doesn’t answer, just steps into the dark hallway stretching out in front of them. They don’t have far to go before they reach another metal door, this one with several locks on it. Michael makes quick work of them and steps through. As soon as he’s in the room the lights overhead flicker on. A motion detector, he assumes.

“What ...the fuck?” Michael wonders aloud.

He’d been expecting to find a lot of things, but a rec room wasn’t at the top of his list. In fact, it wasn’t on his list at all. Especially not one so pristine. The white carpet is the softest he’s ever walked on—he can already hear Isobel’s jealous rage over it. The walls are painted a soft gray-blue, decorated with several expensive-looking pieces of art. In the middle of the room is a glass coffee table with two gray couches on its left and right sides. The left, right and far walls are lined with bookshelves, and there’s an elegant white desk and black leather chair against the right wall. Unlike the rest of the barn, there’s only a light layer of dust in here.

“So ...Noah was hiding his ...secret library?” Alex asks.

“Your guess is as good as mine, darlin’.” Michael replies.

They both pause, realizing what Michael just said. He hasn’t called Alex that in months. An awkward silence envelops them for a moment. Rather than endure it, Alex steps properly into the room and heads to the bookshelves against the far wall. It’s lined with books on history, politics, law, religion, language. There are books on art and philosophy, psychology. He doesn’t know what to make of it.

Michael wanders over to the desk. The top is empty so he checks the cabinet built into it. Inside he finds a series of white photo albums, each labeled with a year. The earliest one is from two thousand seven. He plucks it out of the cabinet and opens it on the desk. There’s only one picture on the first page; Rosa, Liz, Maria, and Alex through the front window of the Crashdown, sitting around a table, just the four of them after closing time. The second page has only one picture as well. This one of the four of them dressed for Halloween. Rosa and Liz were Wednesday and Morticia Addams, Maria was Hermione Granger. Alex, his hair longer then—almost to his chin—had been Eric Draven.

Michael remembers that Halloween perfectly. Even though it’d been a school night, they’d all been at Morgan Myers’s party. He’d been tempted to try and ask Alex out that night. Very tempted. Of course, he’d chickened out and spent the night flirting with some college girl whose name he couldn’t remember, then woken up on Max’s bedroom floor with no memory of how he’d gotten there. Max, both concerned and annoyed, had informed him that he’d been brought there by Alex of all people; according to Max, he’d found him passed out in the street and took him to Max rather than risk him getting into trouble with his foster parents. Michael still hasn’t thanked him for it.

“Hey,” Michael calls, “look at this.”

Alex looks at the two pictures, “Noah?”

Michael shakes his head, “How? He was still in his pod back then.”

Alex considers it a moment, “So, maybe he controlled someone else. You know, other than Isobel. And had them take pictures of Rosa for him.”

“I guess,” Michael shrugs. He doesn’t quite believe that to be the case, but it’s a plausible explanation nonetheless.

He flips to the next picture as Alex resumes looking through the bookshelves. The third picture is just Rosa and Alex. He’s carrying her on his back down the street, the both of them laughing. Fourth is Rosa, Maria, and Alex standing outside the school. If Michael’s right, the three of them are waiting to get inside to see Liz’s science fair entry. He pauses at the fifth picture; it’s Liz and Alex this time, leaving the library. Next is Liz, Maria, and Alex at the drive-in. Liz and Alex alone at the Crashdown. Maria and Alex on the bleachers at school.

It’s the ninth picture that has Michael’s heart sinking. That confirms what he’d been afraid of since the fifth. Alex, alone. Minding the ticket booth at the UFO emporium, stupid green visor and everything. Taking a deep breath Michael flips to the next picture. Alex walking down the street by himself.

“Alex,” Michael says quietly, “you need to see this.”

“See what?” He asks.

“Rosa ...isn’t the common factor in these pictures,” Michael explains, flipping back to the beginning.

“She’s not?”

When Michael doesn’t answer him, Alex takes the hint and starts flipping through the pictures himself. The third picture sees his heart quicken. The fifth has him holding his breath. By the time he reaches the ninth, his hands begin to tremble. He turns immediately to the tenth, then the eleventh—a shot of him through the window sitting in the passenger seat of his father’s car.

“What the hell?” His voice cracks but he’s too disturbed to care at the moment. He keeps turning the pages, finding picture after picture of his teenage self, both alone and with others. “Where did these come from?”

“There’s uh, there’s a whole bunch of them,” Michael admits. He nods to the cabinet, “In there.”

Alex wastes no time in grabbing the next album from the cabinet. It’s exactly the same as the first one; a single picture on each page, each one of Alex. They’re clear, high quality photographs, obviously taken with precision by a very expensive camera. The only question is who took them, and why.

“Alex,” Michael reaches out but Alex pushes his hand away and keeps turning the pages.

“Oh God,” Alex breathes, freezing midway through two thousand eight. 

Michael doesn’t need to ask why. He knows exactly when the picture was taken. He’ll never forget that day. The two of them are walking to Michael’s truck, hand in hand. Michael’s leading the way, reaching out with his free hand to open the passenger door because it may be old fashioned, but Alex deserves a gentleman. They’re looking at one another, smiling. Happy. Optimistic. Oblivious to the horrors that would, in a few mere hours, destroy this perfect moment. And to the horror that, apparently, was already following them. Following Alex.

Alex is struggling to stay calm, but the trembling in his hands is starting to spread to the rest of him. He looks at Michael, lost, “Who took these? Guerin, who took this picture?”

If Michael’s being totally honest with himself, whoever took the picture could’ve been standing half a foot away and he’d never have noticed. Not with Alex looking at him that way, like he was the only thing in the world that mattered. The whole world melts away when he looks at Alex and Alex looks back at him so earnestly, unguarded. That doesn’t happen anymore, not since Michael told him to come back tomorrow and failed to show up himself.

He shakes his head, “I don’t know, Alex. I don’t know who took them.”

Michael reaches out again, this time for the album. He tries to slip it out from under Alex’s hands, knowing now what a mistake it was to come here alone. Alex had been right, they shouldn’t be here alone. The thin layer of dust around the room suggests the photographer hasn’t been here for a while, but that doesn’t make the whole thing any less terrifying. They need to leave. They need to report what they’ve found to the rest of the group. They need to find out who the hell is stalking Alex and why.

This time it’s Alex refusing to leave. He tugs the album right back when Michael tries to take it, resumes flipping through it. There’s pictures of Alex at graduation, his hair cropped short and faded bruises on his face. Eyes empty and lifeless. He hadn’t even looked in Michael’s direction that day.

Alex keeps going through each album. They’re all the same. It doesn’t matter where he is, the unseen photographer is there too. Every country, every base. Out at bars, hooking up with random men when he’d felt brave enough to—briefly—indulge in his own desires. With the one sort of almost boyfriend he’d had in his ten years away from home.

It’s not until the end of the last album that he truly falls apart, “No. No, no, no, this is impossible. It’s just not possible.”

Michael winces at the picture and Alex doesn’t blame him. It’s certainly not the most flattering image of him. Unconscious in a hospital bed, tubes down his nose and throat. Hooked up to various machines. Bandaged and bruised and burned. Weak, helpless. He’d never wanted anyone to see him that way. Completely and utterly unaware that someone was standing right over him, taking a goddamn picture and violating every sense of privacy he’d ever had. Even if he’d been awake, though, he wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it. He’d barely had the strength to press the call button in his first few days after waking up.

“Alex,”

“Why is this happening? Who’s doing this? How did they get in there, Guerin? How did ...oh God, they were right there. Whoever ...whoever took these, they were right there on top of me. They were ...and I was ...fuck, they, they could’ve ...they could’ve done _anything_ …”

“Alex, come on. Stay with me, man. We have to leave, okay?”

“Why? Why bother? Doesn’t seem to matter where I go. Apparently people can just take pictures of me anywhere. Anytime.” Alex is shaking from head to toe now, on the verge of hyperventilating.

Michael takes hold of his shoulders, firm but gentle, “Hey. Hey, listen to me. I know you’re scared, Alex, I know. But we have to get out of here. We have to go back and tell everyone what we found here. Just like you said before. You were right, and you know what? You can hold that over me for the rest of our lives. Okay? But first we have to go home.”

There are tears in Alex’s eyes, but even now he doesn’t let them fall, “How do I know they’re not watching me right now?”

“I …” Michael can’t honestly say they aren’t being watched. In truth, he has no idea how to deal with this discovery. He’s not sure he can do _anything_ to help Alex right now, but that doesn’t mean he has to admit it. “It doesn’t matter. We just, we just have to keep moving. We’re not gonna solve anything just standing here, you know that. I know you know that, because you’re one of the smartest people I know. And if we’re gonna figure this out, you gotta be that badass airman I know you are. Right?”

“If I’m so smart,” Alex questions, “why didn’t I _know?_ ”

“Why didn’t _I_ know?” Michael asks in response. “I’m supposed to be a genius and I didn’t know. Why didn’t I know about Noah? Why didn’t I ...sometimes, sometimes you don’t know, Alex.”

Alex doesn’t answer. Doesn’t seem to either accept or reject Michael’s logic. But he does let Michael guide him back outside. Gets into the truck without complaint. Part of Michael thinks he ought to bring the photo albums with them, but he can’t carry them all and keep Alex calm—relatively, anyway.

“You with me?” He asks when they reach town.

Alex nods, not looking at him, “I think so. I uh, I’m sorry. About that.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Anyone would be freaked out. It’s not your fault.”

“Sure.”

Michael sighs, “Alex?”

Alex finally looks back at him, “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry I made you go into the murder barn.”


	4. the thing about boredom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex learns a bit about what's in store for him in his new life on Antar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with another update of this madness! This chapter contains a fair bit of ableism, dehumanization, and a quick look at an alien culture that is ...not very kind. Please be so good as to tell me your thoughts :)

The room is huge. Ridiculously so. Gigantic. Extravagant. It’s round, walls dark blue with gold molding at the floor and around the windows and doors. A fine brown carpet that looks like wood until its softness is actually felt. A great crystal chandelier overhead. There are three bay windows with a comfortable cushioned seat beneath them, a set of drawers built into its base. A circular marble table sits in the middle with a vase in its center, a bouquet of black and blue roses—real, living, undyed black and blue roses—inside. Around the table are two rounded white couches, both adorned with gold and blue pillows. There’s an exquisite fireplace in the wall, perfectly visible from either couch. Across from the fireplace is a nook in the wall, holding a king size bed that can be hidden by a pair of sliding wooden doors. Through the door near the windows is a bathroom of black marble, its round bathtub big enough to fit half a dozen people easily. It’s all really, very elegant.

An elegant prison is still a prison, though. Alex knows that all too well. The gold door that leads to the rest of the castle—chateau, manor, palace, he’s not entirely sure what to call it—is locked. There’s no wood for the fireplace, rendering it virtually useless. The windows are fake. The images on them—fields, forests, a sparkling purple ocean, a bustling metropolis, among others—are artificial. All he needs to do is touch the glass to scroll through them until he finds something he wants to look at. At the moment, they’re all depicting a rainy field. 

It’s better here than where he was the first few days. Better than being chained and gagged in a cage. Kept naked on display for people to stare at. Every sense of dignity, of privacy, of _personhood_ torn away. Being in this room is better than being in the cage. But then, that’s the whole point. He’d only spent three days in the cage before being moved here. Here, where every complaint can be countered with _would you rather the way things were?_ But just because Alex doesn’t want to go back to the cage doesn’t mean he wants to be here, either. It’s just the lesser of two evils; it doesn’t change the fact that he’s a prisoner. Doesn’t give him back his life. Doesn’t take away the brand burned into his back.

He has no real means of keeping track of time. There are no clocks and naturally he can’t see the position of the sun through fake windows. Meals aren’t served to him at regular intervals. He can’t be sure that it’s really morning when he’s roused by the stout red haired woman for breakfast and night when she turns down the bed. 

Alex doesn’t like her much. She treats him like a child, to put it lightly. An animal sometimes sounds more accurate—he has no doubt she preferred him being in the cage. And she’s always there. She monitors him while he eats as if he can’t be trusted to know how a fork works. Personal boundaries apparently a foreign concept to her, she forces him to let her bathe and dress him and has no regard for how much he hates her touching his stump. If he takes too long to sit down for a meal or get into the bed when she readies it, she stares at him expectantly for a moment before gesturing what she wants him to do. As though it’s ignorance and not his own free will that has him refusing to cooperate.

Even when she’s not in the room she’s there, watching him somehow. Through some hidden cameras or from behind the fake windows or some other means, he’s not sure. But any time he does something that apparently isn’t allowed—like plucking the petals from the flowers or messing up the bed after she’s made it—she comes in immediately to stop him. She scolds him in a language she ought to know damn well he can’t understand, wagging her finger like she’s his mother even though she can’t be too far from his age. She looks at him like he’s beneath her, mutters words that he doesn’t have to understand to know are insults and complaints about him.

It’s not just the red haired woman. All of the people who attend him are the same way. They all treat him like some overpriced pet that their eccentric billionaire employer insists they wait on. Like he’s less of a person than them. But she’s the one who’s there the most, and therefore, the one Alex hates the most.

It’s frustrating to have to put up with all of it. Especially when he knows he could overpower any of them. He doesn’t know who has what powers, but he has one advantage over all of them. They all think of him as weak and helpless, just a stupid human that can’t do much of anything. And so they never think twice about leaving themselves vulnerable when they’re around him. Each day when the redhead dresses him or clears away his plates, she’s entirely unguarded. Alex is sure that with a little effort, he could knock her out or even break her neck before she even knew what was happening. Definitely. But just because he’s physically able to, doesn’t mean he really can. Or rather, _will._

He agreed to be here. If he tries to back out of the deal now, everyone he loves will die. Even if that weren’t the case, he’s lightyears away from home on a planet of psychics and telekinetics who all think of him as inferior. He has no way to get back to Earth and not a single ally. So he has to endure the degradation and humiliation of being treated like some kind of feral creature. The bitterness that comes with knowing he could at least try to stop it all if only there wasn’t permanent leverage over his head. The endless hours of boredom.

The thing about boredom, Alex thinks, is that it has its highs and its lows. Sometimes it’s easily endured through some simple daydreaming or mindless activity. Sometimes it can be slept through for a while. But eventually it wins. Sooner or later, with no real escape in sight, boredom will drive a person to do things just to get away for a moment. Things like rip apart a bunch of innocent flowers or tear the pillows at their seams and toss their soft fillings around the room. Or try and break the false windows to find out what’s on the other side. Pull the empty drawers out from under the window seat and stack them on top of one another, just because.

And of course each and every ridiculous thing that Alex does to try to alleviate his boredom has the redhead come running back in to stop him. Which, more often than not, is the point. He may hate her, and she may dehumanize him at every turn, but she’s still just about the only contact he has every day. Listening to her try to tell him off is better than sitting around in silence. There’s only so long he can pace around or try to exercise or scroll through the window options, after all. And since there’s not much else around to give him any kind of distraction, causing trouble for the redhead it is.

At the moment she’s yelling at him for taking it upon himself to fill up the absurdly large bathtub—alone against the rules he’s apparently expected to live by without even being told them—and climbing in still fully dressed. Why should he give a damn about ruining the showy, uncomfortable clothing he’s forced into every day? Her face is almost as red as her hair as she yells, waving her hand in a way obviously meant to command him out of the tub. He just watches her grow angrier with him by the minute, like a stubborn cat refusing to climb down off the kitchen counter. 

Ordinarily Alex would never find amusement in being so petty, except maybe toward his father and the like. Certainly not toward someone in a service position, as the redhead and the other women who sometimes attend him clearly are. Servants to his keeper, ordered to care for and watch over him. It’s not their fault he’s here. They’re not the ones who threatened his friends’ lives. But if she, and they, are going to treat him the way she does, he’s going to act the part and secretly laugh at her annoyance.

“Lady,” he remarks, “you can yell at me all you want, I’ll get out of this tub when I fucking feel like it.”

As usual, she makes an offended noise when he speaks, repulsed by the sound of an off-world language. The people of Antar, he’s been told, find every language but their own to be vulgar and grating. As far as the redhead is concerned, Alex’s words aren’t words at all. They’re just awful noises being made by an irritating creature she has to look after. It just makes him hate her more.

“Like I said,” he goes on when she steps closer to shout at him some more, “I’ll get out when I’m good and ready. If you don’t like it you can either drag me out of here or _fuck off._ ”

The redhead steps closer, pointing out of the tub and repeating a phrase that he assumes means something along the lines of _get out of there._ When he ignores her she stomps her foot and shouts louder, more firmly. He still doesn’t budge, even when she’s standing directly over him and looking ready to shove him under the water and drown him. 

Alex isn’t sure if it’s boredom or pettiness or something else altogether, but he decides to push his luck a little further than normal today. A lot further, actually. He shifts as though preparing to get out of the tub, holds out his hand for her assistance as he’s supposed to. The moment she takes it, he yanks her forward and she tumbles into the tub with a startled shriek. It’s wide and deep enough that she isn’t hurt, but when she rises up out of the water the indignant rage on her face is priceless. 

“I can’t fucking believe you fell for that,” Alex laughs. “So much for being a _superior species.”_

Even without being able to understand her language he knows she’s cursing at him now, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t stop laughing at her as she climbs out of the tub. Doesn’t stop laughing even as she grabs hold of his arm and hauls him out by force. Though she’s strong, she’s not _quite_ strong enough to lift him on her own. He can feel the aid of her telekinesis holding his weight; her power doesn’t feel as strong as any of the others he’s encountered, but it’s enough to keep him from getting away from her. Not that he’s really trying to. She deposits him on the bench by the sinks and begins to roughly tug his soaked clothes off of him.

“Someone has a temper,” he mocks after she forcefully lifts his shirt over his head. “What’s wrong? Don’t have a sense of humor on this planet?”

She’s still muttering angrily while she yanks his pants off. Still muttering while she dries him with a big, fluffy white towel fresh from the warmer across the room. Once he’s dry she pulls his arm over her shoulder and half-drags, half-carries him back into the bedroom. The redhead drops him onto one of the couches and dries his arm again. She forces him into a new set of clothes she’d apparently brought with her—the black and gold vest and black pants are the least outrageous things he’s had to wear the entire time he’s been here—gives one last angry huff and storms out.

“Bye, red!” Alex calls after her.

He looks back toward the bathroom; she’d left his prosthetic by the tub. He’s not too fond of this new one. Although it’s a near perfect replica of the one he’d worn on Earth—right down to the sleeve—it’s just not quite the same. It’s heavier and more awkward to move in. The material it’s made of is similar to the metal used in Antaran ships. Shiny, colorful. Beautiful though it may be, it’s still been difficult adapting to it. It’s not surprising, though, that this new prosthetic isn’t nearly as efficient as his old one. It’s the first, and thus far _only,_ prosthetic ever made on this entire planet. Antarans would rather die than live with a limb missing, even with an artificial replacement. Or so he’s been told, anyway.

He can’t tell if she left his prosthetic in the bathroom intentionally or not. It’s possible she did it to spite him, to make it more difficult for him to cause her further trouble today. It’ll be tough for him to get to it, with such a wide space and so little to lean on between the couch and the tub. But it’s also possible that she didn’t want to touch it because she simply doesn’t like to touch it. She brings it to him every day when she dresses him, watches in mild disgust as he puts it on. Just another reason he hates her touching his residual leg; she acts like it might somehow infect her.

Regardless of the redhead’s reason for leaving his prosthetic behind, Alex decides not to fetch it right now. He’s not in the mood for all the maneuvering it would take. Instead, he stretches out, buries himself in the many pillows on the couch and falls asleep.

He dreams of Earth, as he so often does. He dreams of Liz and Maria, of how easy it is to be with them. The laughter and lengthy chats and comfortable silences. Even the tears the three of them share only with each other. He dreams of Rosa and how she’d insisted ever since he was a kid that she was his big sister too, not just Liz’s. His brothers had never taken too kindly to her referring to Alex as her baby brother, prompting her to do it all the more. Of Kyle, and how they’d managed to rebuild their friendship after so many years of animosity. How awkwardly Kyle tries to be the supportive best friend he should’ve been years ago. Of Flint, finally finding the courage to defy their father and actually _be_ Alex’s brother, and how that relationship, too, could have been rebuilt if only there’d been more time. Of Max and the mutual respect that—while always present—had only recently turned into a real friendship. Turns out he’s the perfect person to sit and have a quiet beer with when Alex is in a bad mood and just needs to _be._ Of Isobel, someone he’d never imagined he’d ever be friends with. Her coming out to him—admitting it wasn’t just Noah that was in love with Rosa—was _painfully_ awkward but he’d listened. He’d accepted her tearful apologies for the bully she’d been all their lives and readily agreed to “keep her in check” from then on, as she’d put it.

Most of all he dreams of Michael. His face, his smile, the sound of his voice. The touch of his hands, the feel of his lips. Even his scent. Alex dreams every detail of Michael, every inch of him recreated in his mind. He dreams of the times they shared together, both the good and the bad. He dreams of what could have been. Dreams of going on real dates and holding hands in public. Taking trips together. Sharing each other’s every secret in endless hours of talking. Comfortable silences. Wild nights of passion. Lazy mornings of softness. Wedding rings. A sweet little life for just the two of them.

Some dreams may be better left forgotten.

Alex wakes to a gentle touch. A hand on his thigh. Fingers trace down his leg, all the way to his toes. A thumb kneads circles into the ball of his foot, soothing tension away. It moves down to the arches, the rest of the hand wrapping gently around the back of his foot and pulling a soft hum off appreciation from his lips. The touch is familiar. Alex’s hazy, still half-dreaming mind can only call to it one person with hands so strong and so warm.

“Guerin,” he breathes, unaware he’s done so.

Immediately the gentleness stops. The hand shifts its position and bends his toes back painfully. It drags a shocked cry from Alex, who opens his eyes and instinctively tries to pull away. The hand grips tighter in response and tugs his foot right back to where it was.

“I _don’t_ want to hear that name,” a hard voice growls, “ _ever_ again.”

Shock fading, Alex realizes where he is and who he’s with. Not Michael. No, he’ll never be with Michael again. Not outside his dreams. Even if he could go back to Earth they’d never be together again. Michael hates Alex now, and Alex knows he deserves it.

“Sorry,” he whispers. He doesn’t mean it. They both know it.

Still, the gentleness returns and the hand at his foot resumes its tender rubbing. “I hear tell you’ve been giving my servants a rather difficult time lately. Today especially.”

“Sounds like a them problem,” Alex mutters, not bothering to sit up or keep his tired eyes open.

“Actually,” the hand tightens again, though not quite as painfully this time, “it’s a _me_ problem. And if it’s a _me_ problem, it’s also a _you_ problem, Alex.”

Alex knows he should apologize and promise to be on his best behavior from now on, but he’s too annoyed to think about what he _should_ do. If his calculations are anywhere near correct, he’s been left alone in this room for a good three weeks with nothing to do and no one to talk to. And now that the one other person on this entire planet who speaks English has finally come to visit him, it’s to lecture him on what he does with his captivity.

So instead of apologizing he says, “How the hell does it affect you if your servants are pissed at _me?_ Do they have an antaran resources department that files complaints to you?”

“Don’t be a smartass. People _talk,_ Alex. You know that. It’s no different here. Word gets around, especially in the Court. It caused enough of a scandal that I brought you here. If rumors started to spread that you’re not even behaving, it could damage my position. You don’t _want_ that, do you?”

In truth, he does. Alex would love nothing more than to watch him fall from his prestigious, powerful position into shame and disgrace. There’d be a deep satisfaction in knowing he’d caused it, too. That he’d toppled a would-be king just by being spiteful. There would be consequences, of course. Painful ones. Alex would be left unprotected and likely put to death. Or worse, stuffed back into a cage, this time for life. That much he’s okay with; there are worse things than a pyrrhic victory. The real danger is to everyone he loves back on Earth. 

If he doesn’t cooperate, Michael, Max and Isobel’s survival will be revealed. Others will come for them, just as this man did. Some will want them dead, others will want to use them for their political value. No doubt they’ll fight back, just as they did before. They’ll fight back and they’ll lose. Liz, Maria, Kyle and Rosa won’t fare any better. Naturally they’ll try to protect their friends and lovers, but things won’t go any better for them this time than it did the last time. And without Alex there to bargain for them, they’ll all be captured or killed. He can’t let that happen. It’s the whole reason he’s here.

“No,” he whispers, looking up at his keeper. “I don’t want that.”

“I didn’t think so. Now, we’re going to start behaving, aren’t we?”

Reluctantly, Alex nods, “Yes.”

The hand moves up to his calf, still massaging the tense muscles, “Good boy.”

Alex pulls one of the pillows to his chest and squeezes it tight, closing his eyes again. He’s torn. Half of him wants to lash out. Shove this man who’s hurt so many people he loves away. Hurt him back. Make him pay for what he’s done. Inflict on him all the pain and suffering he’s inflicted on so many others. The other half of him knows that’s impossible. He can’t do that. He can’t fight back. Whatever happens to him now, he has to take it. To protect the people that matter most, he’ll suffer. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

“So why don’t you tell me _why_ you’re being so impudent. It’s not like you.”

“Because your servants are all assholes,” Alex mutters without meaning to. His body tenses even more when he realizes what he’s said. A statement like that can go one of two ways. Amusement at his attitude, or rage at his disrespect.

To his relief, he’s answered with a snicker, “How’s that?”

“They all treat me like …”

“You’re inferior?”

Alex sighs, “Yeah.”

“Well, to be fair, you are. You’re a human. You may be _my_ human, but you’re still not antaran. And they don’t take kindly to having to serve you.”

“Then don’t make them,” Alex says. “I can wash and dress myself. I just need to be _given_ the food, I don’t need to be supervised while I eat it.”

“You’ve been trashing the room every day.”

“I’m sorry, but I am _extremely_ bored,” Alex groans. “There is _literally_ nothing for me to do in here.”

“Would you prefer I keep you in the cage?” Is, as predicted, the response.

Still, Alex shakes his head, “No.”

“You’ve got to remember, Alex, Antar’s first encounter with Earth was not exactly promising. Humans were still in the earliest stages of development. Neanderthals. That’s the only impression most of us have of humans. It may’ve been thousands and thousands of years ago for your people, but for mine it’s only been a little over a century. If my mother hadn’t discovered that the portal was actually taking travelers through space _and_ time, no one would’ve ever looked at Earth a second time. Even I was shocked when I found out that with the times lined up, Earth isn’t … _too_ uncivilized.”

Alex scoffs, tries to ignore the insult, “Yeah, well, they can clearly see for themselves that I’m not a caveman.”

“True. But you’re still an inferior species,” he says this with such confidence that for an instant Alex almost takes it as genuine truth rather than arrogance. “As far as they’re concerned you ought to be treated as such. To them, you _belong_ in a cage and it makes no sense that instead of _leaving_ you there I gave you your own room. And the fact that it’s _this_ room is extremely insulting to them.”

Alex knows he’s being led to ask what he means, knows he won’t get any explanations if he doesn’t. He sighs, “Why? What’s so special about this room?”

“Didn’t I tell you? There’s a long tradition to this room. All the households of the High Court have one.”

“The High Court?”

“The families descended from the original rulers of Antar. Royalty. We’re the only ones eligible to take the throne. Someday soon, someone from one of the five households will be chosen by the Queen as her successor.”

“Oh. So then,” Alex asks, “what’s the big deal about this room?”

“It’s a training room.”

“Training for what?”

“Obedience training, mostly. And proper manners. For non-royal nobles—or rarely, commoners—to learn how to behave in the High Court.”

Alex shakes his head, “I don’t understand.”

He’s given a dark smirk in response, “This room is where those of the highest status keep a betrothed of lower status until they can be made into a suitable spouse.”

“A suitable …” It takes a moment for the words to sink in. When they do, Alex bolts upright, “Wait, _what? We’re getting_ married _?”_

“What did you _think_ you were doing here, little bunny?” he's asked mockingly. Predatory hazel eyes wander over his body, “Why would I bother to bring you here just to lock you in your room and never come back? Surely you knew I had plans for you.”

“Yeah but I didn't think … _marriage._ I just ...figured ...I don't know...”

That smirk never leaves, “You were expecting me to treat you as the spoils of victory? Like some captured _concubine_?”

“Kind of?” Alex admits.

That’s exactly what Alex had been expecting. He assumes he’s just one of many, kept tucked away in extravagant cells. Left alone to wait until their captor decides to satisfy his needs with their bodies. He certainly hadn’t imagined that he’d been brought to another planet to be married.

An unseen force drags Alex off the couch and pins him on his back on the table. His arms are restrained overhead, his entire body held in an inescapable grip. He bites back a groan of pain and keeps his face straight. The other man leans down between his tights, bracing himself with one hand on the table while the other grips Alex’s chin. Alex forces his breathing to stay steady, maintains full eye contact. He’s not afraid. He refuses to be afraid.

“Is this what you think of me?” His captor demands. “You think I’m a savage? An alien monster? Snatching you up just so I can rape you? Is _that_ what you think I am?”

Alex can’t answer. The power holding him down has his jaw locked in place. There’s no answer he can give anyway. He’s played this game before. If he says yes he’ll be punished for not knowing better. If he says no he’ll be punished for lying. There’s no way out but to endure. He lays still, makes no attempt to struggle under the power holding him down.

“I would’ve thought you’d think better of me than that. Or are you just too obsessed with _him_ to care about _me?_ Your precious _Michael.”_

He spits the name with such contempt that for an instant Alex is reminded of his father. It triggers every protective instinct Alex has. The desperate need to defend Michael at all times, at all costs. It takes all his willpower to hold it back. To keep from struggling against the other man, from trying to attack him in retribution. Protecting Michael’s honor won’t help protect Michael. Listening to Michael being insulted is a small price to pay to keep him safe.

“I _love_ you, Alex; _he_ doesn’t. He doesn’t love you. He never will.”

Alex flinches under the razor’s edge of those words. Not too long ago he’d have been naive enough not to believe them. He knows better now. The truth has shredded him too deeply now to be denied. It won’t be ignored anymore. That doesn’t make it any easier to hear.

And yet, he has no choice _but_ to listen, “If he did, you’d be with _him_ right now, not with me. If he loved you he’d have protected you. He’d have been stronger. He’d have _fought._ But he didn’t, did he? He didn’t fight for you, Alex. He didn’t fight to keep you. He didn’t even _try._ Because he doesn’t _want_ you. He doesn’t love you, Alex. He _doesn’t. I do._ When are you going to understand that?”

The power holding him lets up just enough for him to speak. Tears in his eyes, he gives the only honest answer he has, “I don’t know.”


	5. you’re not really helping here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael struggles to cope in the wake of Alex's kidnapping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ:  
> It's come to my attention that there's some confusion regarding the order the chapters are being posted in. I know my notes for chapter one were long so maybe people skipped them, so I'll say it again; this fic has a non-linear narrative. The chapters are out of order on purpose, it's just the way I wrote it. I'm sorry if that's confusing but I will list the linear order once the entire fic is posted. For now, if it'll make things easier a little easier, I'll state whether each chapter is Before, During, or After Alex's captivity on Antar. This chapter is During.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: angst, unhealthy coping methods, mentions of violence, and my personal rejection of the "woe is me, poor Michael" narrative  
> (I have sympathy for him and his trauma/abusive past, but am of the opinion that the show gives him way too much slack for his own behavior, so if you're a "Michael did nothing wrong, is totally the victim, Alex is 100% to blame for everything" kind of person, you might not enjoy this chapter although I think I'm pretty fair to him)
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy, please leave a comment! :)

Michael wakes with a feeling of wrongness. It’s not just the stiffness in his limbs and the ache in his back. Or the dryness in his mouth and throat. The throbbing in his head, the pressure over his eyes. And it’s not the fact that he’s hunched over a table in his bunker, having passed out yet again over his notes and charts. No, there’s nothing about his condition or position—unpleasant as both are—that’s giving him this feeling of emptiness. That has him dreading his return to the waking world.

It’s Alex. Or rather, the _lack_ of Alex. Because every time Michael opens his eyes, all he can see is that Alex isn’t here. He’s not here in Michael’s bunker or over in the Project Shepherd bunker. Not at his cabin or Kyle’s apartment. Not at the Crashdown or the Wild Pony. Alex isn’t anywhere in Roswell. He’s not in this state, this country, this continent. Not on this planet. Not even in this galaxy. Alex is gone. He’s walked away again. And this time, Michael has no one to blame but himself. This time, Michael’s never going to get him back.

Oh, he’s certainly going to try. He’s never going to _stop_ trying. All he’s been doing for the last two months is trying to get Alex back. Bring him home. But it’s not going to work. Deep down he knows that. Nothing he does is going to bring the console back to life. There’s no way he can create a working ship, not one that will take him as far as he needs to go. And he has no idea how to find the portal. No way to know when and where it will open, how to navigate it. Without being able to use the portal, even if he could scrape together a decent ship, the journey would take too long. Longer than Alex’s fragile human lifespan will last. Maybe longer than Michael’s, he’s honestly not sure how long his people live naturally. No, Michael’s not going to succeed in rescuing Alex, so he’s going to do the next best thing. Die trying.

He’s doing a pretty good job at that, at least. He hasn’t eaten a proper meal since he’s not sure when. He’s been living entirely off of junk food and energy drinks. Sleep is a thing of the past; every so often exhaustion gets the better of him and he simply passes out wherever he is. If people thought his hygienic habits were bad before, they’d be appalled now. He’s been wearing the same clothes for almost two weeks now. His teeth have been brushed maybe once in the last seventy-two hours, and even that was only to get rid of the taste of vomit; an all sugar, no substance diet isn’t exactly kind on the digestive tract. The only reason he’d shaved two days ago was because in a brief moment of fatigue-fueled delusion, he’d actually thought it was all a bad dream and had intended to go and tell Alex all about it. He’d chugged down his last bottle of whiskey and last two bottles of nail polish remover when reality had hit him that day.

Michael rubs his hand over his face and gets back to work. Tries again to bring the glow back to the console. No matter what he does to it, it remains dull and lifeless. It no longer responds to his touch. He’s tried everything he can think of to recharge it. He’s attached a lightning rod to it, nothing. Gotten Max to use _his_ lightning on it, nothing. Tried pouring his own power into it, nothing. Left it sitting in the sun for days, nothing. Even hooked it up to a car battery, nothing. Every attempt to give the damn thing energy again is useless. As useless as his attempt to protect Alex had been.

It’s only when his stomach demands his attention and he realizes that he’s out of snack bars and potato chips that he forces himself up the ladder. He’s not ready to die _just_ yet. So he grabs what little cash he’s got left and hops into his truck.

He encounters two kinds of people at the grocery store. The kind that stare and the kind that avoid. Both groups are split into smaller groups of their own. There’s the ones who pity Michael, feel sorry for him. The ones who think he’s pathetic and have probably mocked him repeatedly over the last few weeks. And the ones who don’t really know what to think of the whole thing.

All of them know. Not everything, but enough. They know that he and Alex were connected. Deeply. Well beyond two guys who just went to school together. They know he’s been self-destructing—even more than he used to be—since the supposed death of Alex Manes. There’s no one in town who doesn’t know how he nearly assaulted his father at the funeral. How Max and Kyle had both had to restrain him as he screamed that the Master Sergeant had no business there. Screamed out what a monster he was of a father, how he was half the reason Alex was gone. If Liz hadn’t had enough foresight to slip some of that annoying, power-muting pollen into his coffee that morning things would have been a lot worse. Someday he might remember to thank her. He can’t carry on his futile mission to save Alex if he’s been shot dead or dragged into some government facility, after all.

It doesn’t matter what anyone knows. Let them all think what they want. He has more important things to worry about. Like stuffing bags of chips and boxes of protein bars into his basket. Cans of energy drinks. Bottles of nailpolish remover. When he reaches the register he mentally knocks over a display a few feet away from him and while everyone’s distracted pockets a few candy bars. The security cameras don’t catch him because they’ve all conveniently shut off.

He’s already finished a bottle of nailpolish remover and a can of Monster by the time he reaches the liquor store. Mrs. Jones at the counter looks uneasy about selling to him in such a lousy state, but she makes no argument as he restocks his supply of alcohol. She doesn’t need to know how fast he’s finishing it off.

By the time he makes it back to his bunker he’s wired and jittery and ready to get back to work. He spends hours going through his notes. Everything he’s learned about himself and his people fits in one notebook. He’s read through it at least a thousand times. He doesn’t know if everything in it is accurate. There are things Noah had told Max that might not be true. Things the son of a bitch who took Alex from him said that could be lies. Michael isn’t sure he believes _anything_ he’d said, actually. Alex did. That’s why he’s gone.

He reads through the notebook again. He tries to decipher the writing on the console. He tries to find some way, any way to get to Alex. By this point, he must have a hundred books on space travel—both practical and theoretical—stacked up in his bunker. He knows he might find more information if he searches through the Project Shepherd notes but he can’t bring himself to go there. Not when Alex’s presence still lingers so strongly. 

He’d left spare clothes there for the many overnighters he’d pulled. A razor, a toothbrush. An extra crutch. A phone charger. The whole place is full of tiny signs of his existence. An existence that just isn’t there anymore. Michael’s not ready to face that yet.

Instead he keeps on dragging himself around in circles. Tries out variations of the same batch of ideas over and over. Reads and rereads the same notes and books. The closest he’s come to anything that could be called progress is making the circle a little bigger. Grabbing one of the books from the pile that he hasn’t already read. Finding a new variant of one of his already failed ideas. He’s supposed to be a genius, yet now when it counts the most, he can’t even begin to think of something that might actually _work._

He doesn’t know if anyone else is trying to come up with a plan. Michael hasn’t spoken to either of his siblings or any of his human friends in three weeks. Since the funeral. The bullshit funeral for someone they know damn well isn’t dead. Legally, he is. The human authorities declared it after he’d been missing for a month and his car was finally found in a ditch on some deserted back road. Michael doesn’t care what it says on paper. Alex isn’t dead. He knows that. Max knows that. Liz knows. Everyone who really matters knows the truth. And yet they insisted on attending that ridiculous funeral. To keep up appearances, they’d said. Michael had only gone to keep them from bugging him about it. He’s just grateful they aren’t bugging him now about the scene he caused.

Still, it bothers him to no end that they even cared about keeping up appearances in the first place. Appearances are irrelevant now. Alex is Michael’s only priority. He hates that that’s not the case for the rest of the group. That they would actually put something as trivial as maintaining normalcy on par with bringing him back. He doesn’t blame them for what happened—he alone shoulders that responsibility—but he can’t understand how they can go about their business knowing the danger Alex is in. Knowing that he’d given up his life for theirs and acting like it was somehow a fair trade. He can’t accept their wait and see attitude; putting Alex on the backburner with _we’ll come up with something_ as justification.

He downs another bottle of nailpolish remover and another can of Monster and works harder rather than let himself get angry. He shovels chips into his mouth by the handful and keeps busy at all times. Pushes himself to work, even when he’s so exhausted that the words on the page start to move around and spots dance before his eyes.

***

The next time Michael wakes up, it’s in his own bed. The sheets are softer than he remembers and smell like some kind of flowery detergent. The kind Isobel uses. Which makes it less surprising when he pries his eyes open to see her fussing at his kitchen counter.

“What’re you doing here?” He asks as he sits up, voice hoarse and head groggy.

She doesn’t answer, just turns halfway around and hands him a glass of water. Knowing he’ll be able to get back to work faster if he complies, he takes it wordlessly. Practically drinks it all in one gulp. How long has he been this thirsty?

Isobel turns around fully now and drops a plate of jam-covered toast in his lap, “Eat.”

He’s pretty sure he’s out of bread and definitely sure he doesn’t own any jam, so instead of eating he asks, “Where’d you—”

_“Eat,”_ she cuts him off. Her face is stern, leaving no room for argument, and only softens slightly when he takes a bite. Pouring him another glass of water she explains, “I bought groceries. Bread, milk, eggs, butter, all the essentials. And Max got you a mini fridge for your stupid bunker. It’s got water in it. And food, real food, not the crap you’ve been eating.”

“You didn’t have—”

Still she doesn’t let him finish, “I am not done. Max cleared all the garbage out of the bunker, too. He’s out doing your laundry right now, with detergent that actually _works_. I got you new sheets. Restocked your little bathroom. With _good_ soap and _real_ shampoo. And a little thing called _conditioner._ I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

“I had soap,” he comments. He has shampoo too. Half a bottle, he thinks. Not that he’s used it in forever. He hasn’t showered since the funeral.

“You had cheap crap,” Isobel says. “And you haven’t even been using it.”

“I don’t have time,” Michael replies.

“Right, because you have such a busy schedule these days,” Isobel remarks.

Michael isn’t sure whether to be afraid or angry. On the one hand he really doesn’t have time for any of this. He can’t waste time arguing with Isobel about trifles when he could be busy searching for a miracle that won’t happen. She should know that. Know better than to interrupt him. On the other hand, he’s never actually been on the receiving end of her alpha bitch queen bee routine. Except maybe Halloween night their senior year, but he’s certain that that was actually Noah chewing him out anyway. No, even when Isobel hasn’t been entirely on his side, she’s never looked at him with such fire. Never spoken to him with such ice. He doesn’t think she’d ever use her powers against him but if she does, he can’t stop her.

“Iz,” he sighs, not sure what he can say to get out of this whole mess.

“What are you _doing?”_ she asks.

He shakes his head, “What d’you mean, what am I doing?”

“I mean what are you doing? I mean, have you gone out of your fucking mind? Honestly, how do you think Alex is going to feel if you show up to rescue him looking like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like every ‘town drunk’ cliche ever rolled into one. What the hell kind of prince charming smells like a trash can in a brewery?”

Michael rubs his face and sighs, “Iz, it’s not that simple.”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” Isobel says. “It really is that simple. If Alex were here right now he’d be _so mad_ at you for doing this to yourself.”

“But he’s not here, Isobel,” Michael snaps, “is he? And he’s not going to be unless I get my ass in gear and find a fucking way to build a new ship, locate and navigate a magic fucking portal wormhole thing I know next to nothing about, arrive on my own goddamn home planet that I _also_ know nothing about, fight and defeat the same fucker who kicked my ass and kidnapped Alex _in the first place,_ and bring him home.”

“And?” Isobel asks, unfazed by his outburst.

“And what? You want _more?”_

“I want to know how any of this is preventing you from taking better care of yourself,” she clarifies.

“Because I don’t have fucking _time!_ ”

“You don’t have time,” Isobel repeats. “You don’t have, say, ten minutes to shower and shave. Half an hour to eat an _okay_ meal. Eight hours, _six_ even, to sleep. But you’ve got twelve hours to spend passed out on the floor. Makes sense.”

“I do not spend twelve hours passed out on the floor,” Michael protests.

“No,” Isobel agrees, “it’s more than that, actually. It’s been twelve hours since Max and I _found_ you. God knows how long you were out before we got here and dragged your sorry ass to bed.”

“That’s not an everyday thing,” Michael insists. He honestly has no idea if he’s lying or not; he doesn’t really keep track of how frequently he passes out or for how long.

“It shouldn’t be a thing _ever,_ ” Isobel says. “Unless you want Alex to puke from your stench when you finally get to sweep him off his feet.”

“That’s not gonna happen,” Michael replies. There’s no point in worrying about how Alex will react to his condition when they reunite when they’re never going to. No point in letting Isobel in on that, though; she’s not often optimistic about anything these days, why ruin this?

“Michael,” Isobel’s voice is hard, “enough of this. We’ve all been trying to give you space but clearly it’s not working. You need to start taking care of yourself. And if you’re not going to, I swear I am going to shut your brain off and _make you._ ”

“Isobel,”

“I mean it, Michael. I will make you sleep for eight hours, I will make you come to breakfast with me every day. I will make you let Max take you out for lunch and I will make you let _Kyle_ take you out for dinner.”

“Couldn’t even be Liz?” Michael grumbles.

“No. No, you don’t get to go see Liz and Maria until you clean up your act. Humans are too delicate to handle your smell right now,” Isobel says. “Kyle is an exception because he’s a doctor.”

Michael sighs. He doesn’t think Isobel can even pull off a stunt like that—at least not long term—but he also knows he’ll just waste time if he decides to find out. Everything will go faster if he just humors her. Eats more real food, showers. Sleeps more regularly. Contacts her. Keeps up appearances. He’s got an entire lifetime to fail Alex, he can spare a few hours now and again to make his sister’s life a little better.

With Isobel satisfied by Michael’s promise to pay more attention to his health and visit her every Sunday for stupid brunch, he gets right back to his routine. He has to adjust his schedule a bit to keep that promise, but it’s not the worst thing in the world. He drags a sleeping bag into the bunker with him and sleeps five hours a day. Five minutes to shower, ten if he shaves. His diet still isn’t anywhere near proper but he does add a bowl of cereal to it every morning and a sandwich every afternoon. Groceries are delivered to his Airstream weekly, paid for by Isobel of course. She’s kind enough to include a new bottle of nailpolish remover in each delivery and he takes it to mean he’s appeased her. Max appears on Saturday nights with a six pack and for once is kind enough to not say a damn word while they drink it.

He supposes they have a point. With real food in his stomach now and a few hours of sleep every day he’s more energized. It takes longer for his vision to blur when he reads and for him to start crumbling over the console. New ideas start to form in his head. None of them work, but it’s better than doing the same things over and over. It’s not progress, but it’s close enough to it that when the day comes that his body finally gives out, he can be honest when he says he tried his best.

***

It’s eight weeks after Alex’s fake funeral—five weeks after Isobel’s ultimatum—when Michael gets an extremely unexpected visitor. He’s busy trying to figure out how to create something that will withstand the vacuum of space out of scrap—if he can’t get the console to light up, at least maybe he can get a shell of a ship built—when the car pulls up behind him. He turns around and groans, definitely not in the mood for this.

“Whatcha need, Valenti?” He asks. They’ve never been more than civil—at _best_ —and their last few encounters have been particularly hostile. 

Kyle, hands in his pocket and looking no happier to be here than Michael is to see him, shakes his head, “Just the opposite, Guerin. I have something for you.”

“Is it the key to NASA?”

Kyle laughs humorlessly, “No, but it _is_ a key.”

Michael catches said key when Kyle tosses it to him and examines it. There’s nothing particularly interesting—much less alien—about it; just an ordinary key with a brown leather keychain attached. He can’t even begin to imagine why Kyle is giving it to him.

“This supposed to mean something?” he asks.

“It’s Alex’s,” Kyle explains. “He uh, he left it to you. In his will.”

“What will? Alex has a will?”

“He’s an airman, Michael. He was deployed three times _and_ he’s spent the last year trying to take down his homicidal father’s secret government conspiracy. Of course he has a will. And as executor of that will, it’s my job to—”

“He’s not fucking _dead._ ”

“The world _thinks_ he’s dead. _Legally_ he is. So his estate is being distributed as per his instructions.” Kyle says. He sighs, “Look man, he appointed me executor last year so that his dad wouldn’t be able to try anything in case something happened to him. Probate is a nightmare so I figured getting all the legal shit done as soon as possible would make it easier.”

“Easier to _what?”_ Michael demands.

“Give him his stuff back when we find him,” Kyle says. “Most of it goes to Maria and Liz; they’ve already claimed all the money he left them and put it in a new account for him. His dad hasn’t contested anything yet—and Flint said he’d try to keep him at bay—so it’s been pretty smooth but I don’t wanna take any chances.”

There’s a part of Michael that understands the logic behind Kyle’s actions. It makes sense to follow all the proper protocols. Claim Alex’s entire estate so that they can easily return it to him. Hypothetically, anyway, if there were even the slightest chance of him actually coming home. But he’s also mad that all that’s left of Alex is just being casually divided up. That they have to protect it in the first place. That protecting Alex’s _things_ is so much easier than protecting Alex himself.

And of course, _of course_ he’s left something for Michael in his will. He’s just got to get the last word in. Insult to injury. _You couldn’t save me, so have this instead._

“And he left me a ...key?”

Kyle shakes his head, “He left you his cabin.”

***

Michael will be the first to admit he has a temper. He knows he frequently has trouble keeping it in check. He also knows he has trouble controlling his powers when said temper starts to flare. He doesn’t need this pointed out to him. And he definitely doesn’t need yet _another_ lecture from Max about it. Even if he did frantically call him to come and save Kyle from the cracked skull Michael had accidentally given him. It’s not like he _meant_ to throw the guy across the junkyard, it just _happened._

So instead of giving Max a chance to even start the lecture, he waits just long enough to be sure he hasn’t killed Kyle and then retreats back into the bunker. He holds the hatch shut with his powers, refuses to budge when Max tries to open it. He wants to get back to work, but all he can do is sit on the floor, hugging his knees and crying like a fucking child. The key sits at his feet, mocking him.

His cabin. Alex has left him his cabin. If Michael didn’t know any better, he’d think Alex was _trying_ to be cruel. Giving him a house as though it’ll change the fact that his home has been stolen. He feels seventeen again, trying to work out what could possibly have motivated Alex to tell him about the toolshed behind his house. Trying to understand why he’s inviting him into his own private refuge. Why he’s giving him a place to go. 

Worse, he feels seventeen and in the toolshed after the door’s been thrown open and Alex is terrified beside him. He feels like he’s seventeen again and watching Alex’s feeble attempt at standing up to his bastard father. He’s seventeen again and staring, helpless and furious, as Alex is thrown against the wall. He can still see his body trembling. Can still hear his pained, frightened whimpers. Michael is seventeen again and Alex needs him. And Michael’s failed him. Again. He’s managed to do nothing but hurt him more. Take the first hit and then watch, useless and weak, as Alex takes the rest to save him.

He can’t take this anymore. He can’t. He just can’t. Alex has been gone for months. He’s out there somewhere in the stars, suffering. He’s being tortured and abused. He’s enduring endless pain with no reprieve. He has no shelter to go to. No safe space to crawl into. No one to protect him. No one to even offer him comfort. He’s alone and afraid and Michael can’t do anything about it. He can’t save him. He can’t give him sanctuary the way Alex had done for him so long ago.

No one else is even trying. They’re all too busy worrying about keeping up appearances and Michael’s health and how to proceed when Alex comes back. They don’t realize he isn’t. They’re trying to skip ahead to the part where he’s home safe and they don’t see that that’s never going to happen. They can’t make that happen, none of them can, but at least Michael’s trying. At least he’s not pretending everything’s going to be alright when it isn’t.

Above him he can sense Isobel trying to force the hatch open. Her newly developed telekinesis isn’t as strong as his just yet and she can’t do it. She can’t get into his head either; it’s much harder when she can’t actually see her target. And awareness is the key to trying to resist her. She can’t see him and Michael knows she’s going to try and both these things give him the advantage to keep her out. Bitterly he thinks if she and Max had tried this hard to protect Alex, maybe he’d still be here.

That’s not fair, though. It was his job to protect Alex, not theirs. He’s the one who failed. He’s the reason Alex isn’t here anymore, the reason he was snatched off the very planet. And he’s the reason Alex isn’t coming back. He’s the one who’s supposed to be a genius. He should be able to figure this out. Find a way to get to his own damn home planet. But he can’t do it. Because Michael’s only a genius when it matters the least.

He cries for hours and doesn’t move for hours more even after the tears run dry. The sounds above him have finally stopped. They’ve given up on trying to reach him. At least, he hopes they’ve given up and aren’t just taking a break. He doesn’t have the patience to deal with them anymore. He doesn’t care if it upsets them, he’s not wasting another minute of his life on anything that doesn’t involve his search for Alex. Nothing else matters, not even the knowledge that it’s all in vain.

Body stiff and sore, eventually he crawls to his feet and gets back to work. Reads the same damn books again. Checks the same notes. Tests the same methods to repower the console. He’s on a loop, repeating the same task endlessly with no change in the results. Not that he’s expecting one. His life has been one big cycle of misery anyway.

It’s not until his stock of food and water is finished that Michael can bring himself to step out of the bunker. Vaguely he thinks he ought to just keep on working and let this be the end of him, but he can’t let himself off that easy. Alex isn’t dead, so Michael has no right to be either. As long as Alex is alive and suffering, Michael will be too. He’ll work himself to death, but he’ll be damned if he gets that release before Alex does.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he nearly killed Kyle just for being the messenger. Days, at least. Maybe a week. The afternoon sun stings his eyes when he climbs out of the hatch. He’s disappointed, but not entirely surprised, when he sees Max waiting for him.

“Took you long enough,” Max comments, sitting by the fire pit. “I was starting to think you died down there.”

“Let me guess. ‘You can’t keep doing this, Michael.’ ‘This isn’t healthy, Michael.’ ‘What would Alex say, Michael?’”

Max shrugs, “In short.”

“In order, yes I can, I don’t care, and I guess we’ll never know,” Michael replies.

“What d’you mean we’ll never know?” Max asks. “What, you think we’re _not_ gonna tell Alex about this?”

“We’re not gonna tell Alex because we’re never gonna _see_ him again.”

Max stands, “Michael, come on, don’t say that. Of course we’re gonna see him again.”

“No, we’re not.”

“Stop it, Michael. Stop underestimating him. Alex is strong. He’ll survive this.”

“Survive?” Michael questions. He supposes Max is trying to be reassuring, but he’s far from it. “He’ll _survive_ this?”

“He _will,”_ Max insists.

“I don’t _want_ him to fucking survive this, Max! I want him to be _here!_ I want him _safe!”_

“And he will be. He just has to hold on for a _little while,_ and he can do that. He knows we’re coming for him, so—”

“You, you think he knows we’re coming for him?” Michael asks.

“Of course he does,” Max says.

“No, Max, no, he doesn’t. He has no fucking clue we’re coming for him.”

“Michael,”

“You were there, Max! You saw what happened! Not only does Alex _not_ think we’re coming for him, he thinks we’re _actively not_ coming for him!” Michael shouts. He’s crying again and frankly he doesn’t care anymore. He just wants Max to understand and leave him alone. “He thinks we’re not coming. He thinks we don’t _care!_ He thinks _I’m_ not coming! He thinks ...God, _fuck,_ he thinks I don’t ...he thinks I don’t love him. He thinks I don’t love him, Max. Alex thinks I don’t _love him._ ”

Max shakes his head, “That’s not true, Michael. Alex knows you love him.”

Michael can only laugh at how ignorant Max is being, “Were you paying attention to _anything_ that went on that night? He doesn’t fucking _know._ If he knew he’d still fucking be here!”

“He was upset,” Max says. “He wasn’t in a good place. But he saved our lives.”

“At what cost, Max? He handed himself over to that ...fucking …” Michael doesn’t want to think about him, the monster that stole Alex away. “He gave himself up and he thinks we’re all just going on with our lives like nothing happened! All because he thinks _I don’t fucking love him!”_

That’s the worst part about it all. The hardest detail to live with. That all of this is happening because Alex doesn’t believe Michael loves him. Because he thinks Michael is better off without him. Because Michael couldn’t prove to him that neither of those things are true. He’ll never stop seeing the look that was on Alex’s face in that last moment. So defeated, and worse so accepting of it. There were no tears, no fear, no anger in his eyes. He was just ...broken. Michael had thought for years that the emptiness in Alex’s eyes he’d seen when he finally came back to school after the toolshed was the hardest thing he’d ever have to see. Then he’d thought the look in his eyes when he’d gone to Maria was the hardest. Both times he was wrong.

As usual Michael doesn’t mean to throw anything. Doesn’t mean to unleash his power on every innocent thing around him, Max included. Not meaning to doesn’t stop him from doing it, though. He sinks to his knees, head in his hands, and screams. He can’t hear the destruction he causes over the sound of his own despair.

“It’s _my fault,_ ” he sobs. “I had _one_ chance to protect him. _One chance_ to prove to him that I love him. And I couldn’t do it. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know how much I love him. He’s all alone, Max, and he doesn’t know I love him.”

He doesn’t look up even when Max moves toward him and rubs his back softly. There’s a long silence before Max finally says, “So then ...you tell him. When we get him home, you tell him.”

“We’re not _gonna_ get him back, Max,” Michael whimpers. “I can’t save him. I never could.”

“Michael, I understand,”

Michael shoves him away before he can finish, “No, you don’t! You stupid selfish fucking _asshole._ You don’t understand! _You_ get to save people! You _saved_ Liz! You saved Rosa! You saved me and Isobel! You _save_ people! I can’t do that! I can’t fucking save _anybody!_ Alex _needed me_ and I couldn’t save him!”

 _“You tried,”_ Max says as if that matters.

“Yeah, I tried. I tried back when we were kids too. I ever tell you that part? How when his dad broke my hand, it was actually meant for him. Alex was the one who was supposed to take that hit. I tried to protect him. And I did, for a minute. I protected him, I took the hit for him, and then he had to save me anyway. He actually hit his dad back for once, and then he carried me to my truck. I remember him saying something, something about taking me to the hospital. I stopped him and tried to tell him I needed you and not a doctor. He didn’t understand, he, he thought I was just confused from the pain. I couldn’t explain anything though, cause then his dad caught up and grabbed him, and Alex he just ...he screamed for me to go. He just kept screaming for me to get somewhere safe, even while his dad was literally _dragging_ him back to the house.”

Max looks almost as horrified as Michael feels, “Jesus, Michael, I,”

“You,” Michael snarls. “You took that from me. The _one time_ I was _ever_ able to protect Alex and you _took it from me!_ I _told you_ I didn’t want you to heal my fucking hand! Taking that hit was the _only thing_ I was ever able to do for Alex and you took it! And he, he saw it was healed and thought it meant I was _free._ He said, ‘now there’s nothing to tie you to me anymore’ like I was just _settling_ for him because of what happened or something. Because of _you._ ”

He’s still on his knees, panting, exhausted. Max sits beside him, unsure what to do. Michael thinks maybe he finally gets it. Maybe he finally sees that Michael isn’t self-destructing, he’s atoning. The only way he can for his failure. He can’t save Alex so he’ll suffer along with him, in his own way.

“Are you feeling _better_ now?” The hard voice that finally breaks the silence isn’t Max’s. It’s Maria’s. 

Michael turns around to see her step out of the Airstream and feels a new guilt settle on his chest; he’d shattered its windows with her in there. She looks unharmed, but the fact that she could’ve been injured crushes him.

“Are you done feeling sorry for yourself?” She asks. “Or do you have another tantrum to throw?”

“Did I hurt you?” Michael asks feebly instead of answering her.

She scoffs, “You are so pathetic, Guerin. I cannot _believe_ Alex and I _both_ fell in love with you.”

“Maria,” Max says softly, getting to his feet slowly, “I know you’re mad, but you’re not really helping here.”

Maria shakes her head, “No, Max, _you’re_ not helping. Despite your best intentions and your lectures, when it comes to Michael you’re frankly just an enabler. You and Isobel tried your best, but I think it’s better if you let _me_ handle this now.”

Max looks between her and Michael for a moment, then gives in, “Go easy on him.”

“That’s exactly your problem,” Maria comments as he leaves. She waits until he’s begun driving away before turning her attention back to Michael. “Well?”

“Well what?” He asks.

“Are you gonna answer me or just sit there like an idiot?”

Michael sighs, too tired to even try going against her, “What was the question?”

“Do you feel better now?” Maria repeats. 

Michael shakes his head, “No.”

“Then what the fuck are you doing? Why’re you just sitting around throwing tantrums if it’s not even making you feel better?”

“What else am I supposed to do?”

“Gee, I don’t know Michael, maybe _save Alex?”_

“I can’t,” Michael whimpers.

“No,” Maria shakes her head, “I guess not. But that’s okay. He’s used to you letting him down. Not being there for him when he really needs it.”

“It’s not like I don’t _want_ to,” Michael protests.

Glares daggers doesn’t even begin to cover the way Maria looks at him, “Then _why_ aren’t you?”

“I told you,”

“Right, right, you _can’t._ Because you’re too busy with whatever the fuck this whole thing is. You’re right. _You_ can’t save Alex. But you know who _can_ save Alex? _Michael._ The Michael that Alex fell in love with in the first place. The Michael _I_ fell in love with. The Michael who would stand up to Jesse Manes and get his hand broken just to keep Alex safe for _one minute._ The Michael who would lie—however stupid a decision that was—to keep his sister from knowing she’d just killed three people. The Michael who takes on other aliens a thousand times more powerful than him to protect the people he loves. The Michael who was _bleeding_ and _broken_ and still _got back up_ because he knew he was the only person left who could keep us all safe.”

“And who am _I_ , then?” It’s more of an insult to hear her talk about his mistakes and failures as though they’re accomplishments than it is to hear her actually insult him.

“You? You’re the other Michael,” Maria explains. “The weak, whiny little baby who sits on his ass drinking and feeling sorry for himself.”

Michael doesn’t mean to get defensive, but with Alex off world Maria is officially better than anyone else on the planet at pushing his buttons, “I’m so sorry I have feelings about the man I love being _kidnapped._ Apparently I’m the only one who cares!”

Maria smirks, “And there it is. Newsflash, Guerin, you do _not_ have a fucking monopoly on loving Alex. Especially when you’re not even _good_ at it.”

“What?”

“You give him so much shit about walking away, but I didn’t see you go after him. Never heard you ask him to stay. If anything, all you did was encourage him to go.”

“I _never_ told him to go,” Michael practically snarls. He doesn’t think what happened at Caulfield counts when he’d only done it to protect him.

“Maybe not,” Maria says, “but you never told him to stay either. And to Alex, that’s the same thing. You’d know that if you weren’t so selfish.”

“I’m not,”

“Do you even _know_ why I broke up with you?” Maria asks, throwing him with the complete change in subject.

Michael isn’t sure how to answer that question. Maria had ended their relationship—which had been on admittedly unstable ground for over a month already—a week after he’d dragged poor Alex to what had very much turned out to be a murder barn. As for why, there are several possibilities. There’s the self-pitying one; because even someone as wonderful as Maria will abandon him too, just like everyone else. Because he’s not good enough to be worthy of her love, just like he’s not worthy of Alex’s. There’s the pathetic answer; because he’s still in love with Alex and couldn’t be everything Maria deserved, as much as he wanted to be. And then there’s the poetic justice answer; Maria couldn’t stand hurting Alex and left Michael to preserve their friendship. Just like Alex put on his best fake smile and gave them his blessing. Because the love Maria and Alex share is and always will be greater than the love either of them have for Michael.

They’re all true, but he’s pretty sure any answer he gives will be wrong at the moment so he shakes his head, “Why?”

“Because you’re a shitty boyfriend, Michael,” Maria says plainly.

That, he wasn’t expecting. “Huh?”

“You heard me. You’re a shitty boyfriend. Everything’s all about you, you’ve got no idea how to actually _be there_ for someone.”

“I wasn’t _there_ for you?” Michael can’t believe she’s actually saying this. He knows he’s a fuck up in a lot of ways, but he distinctly recalls multiple incidents where he held her close and comforted her when she needed him.

“Not when it counted,” Maria says. “Oh sure, when things were good they were _great._ When we were happy we were on the moon. And you were always there when I needed a shoulder to cry on. But that’s about it. When I needed to talk, needed real _emotional_ support? Somehow you found a way to make it about you. When I was mad—at you or not—you took it as an attack. When I needed space, you took it as an insult.The only times you were there for me were when it was convenient for you. Even that day you came to the Pony and I was crying? Before we got together, before Texas, you remember that day?”

“Yeah.”

“At the time, when you held me, I thought ‘wow, he really _is_ a sweet guy.’ But now? Looking back, all I can see is how I was just a distraction for you. I was sitting there _crying_ and you had the nerve to try and talk about what _you_ needed.”

Michael scoffs, “Isobel had just—”

“I know,” Maria says. “I’m _in_ on the secrets now, remember? And you’re missing the point, as usual. I was upset and you had to make it about you. Like yours are the only problems that matter. That’s how it always is with you, Michael. You talk big about love, but you only know how to act on it when it’s easy for you. It’s _easy_ to just hold someone when they’re crying. It’s easy to kiss and fuck away all the bad feelings. But when the time comes to _work,_ you deflect, at best. Or find a way to make yourself a martyr. Because it’s _all_ about _you.”_

Instinct has him wanting to argue, but the look on Maria’s face keeps him silent. It’s more than anger. It’s hurt. Michael already knew that he’d hurt her, but he’d always thought that was because he couldn’t let go of his feelings for Alex. He’d certainly never thought it had anything to do with him personally.

“I had a great childhood,” Maria continues. “My mother was amazing, and so was my dad before he died. They gave me so much love, such a stable, _safe_ environment. So I was able to see the problem with our relationship was that I was putting in the effort and you weren’t meeting me halfway. I understood that even though you had—have—very good reasons for being the way you are, that that’s not my fault. I don’t owe you anything just because you had a bad childhood, and it’s not my job to help you fix yourself if you won’t make the effort too. And you being in pain does _not_ absolve you of the shit _you’ve_ done.  
_I_ understand that. _Alex_ doesn’t. He didn’t have stability growing up. He was _six_ when his mother left him with that monster. He doesn’t understand that there are people who love him, unconditionally, without being told and shown. He doesn’t understand that he _deserves_ to be loved. He _needs_ to be reminded. He needs someone to be steady when he’s not. He needs someone who’ll push past all those defense mechanisms he developed living with his father and make him see that it’s safe now. And you should know that, Michael. You _love_ him, so you should’ve known.”

Michael doesn’t say anything to that. It’s a lot to absorb, but mostly he concentrates on what she’d said about Alex’s mother. He’s always known that she left before Michael came to town, but he’d never known how old Alex was. Six. Alex had one year less with his mother than Michael had had with his.

“I know Alex hurt you, a bunch of times,” she goes on, almost softer now. “I know he broke your damn heart. I know he walked away when things got tough and he was wrong to do that. But I _also_ know he stepped up and tried to be better. He tried to fix his mistakes. He _tried_ to be everything _you_ needed. And instead of trying _with_ him, you ran off to _me._ That was low, Michael. You hurt both of us doing that. I know I’m not innocent, I completely betrayed his trust and I was a terrible friend, but at least I _know_ that. But it was right on brand for you; the time had come for you to step up and put in some real effort, so you backed out. You found all the best excuses and laid them on thick. All that ‘his family’ and ‘it hurts too much’ bullshit. Like you’re the only person in the world who had a bad childhood. Did you ever once even think about what all that did to _Alex?”_

“Of course I do,” Michael says. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t regret hurting Alex.

“No, not what _you_ did. What happened. Finding out just how far his father’s fucked up shit goes? Having to live with being the heir to legacy of _murder?”_

“I …”

“That was rhetorical, genius. I _know_ you never thought about what that whole experience did to Alex. Well here’s a clue. It made him hate himself _even more_ than he _already did._ And that’s saying something. He blames himself for it. All of it. Everything bad that’s ever happened to you, every awful thing his family’s ever done, he blames himself. Even though _none_ of it is his fault. Literally none of it. But you don’t think about any of that. Because that would mean thinking about someone _other_ than yourself. That would mean _work._ It would mean sorting out all the painful details and _dealing_ with your problems.  
Alex was ready to do that. He thought you were too. So when you pulled that little stunt, he took it to mean you’d already done it. He figured it meant you’d moved on without him. So he did what he does best; he put his own pain aside and pretended everything was fine. That’s why he believed that bullshit story, you know; he already hates himself, he figured why shouldn’t you? As far as he was concerned, you’d already told him to go a long time ago. Every time you didn’t ask him to stay.”

“I didn’t _mean_ to hurt him,” Michael whispers. A pathetic excuse, even he knows that.

“And _he_ didn’t mean to hurt _you._ God, do you even know _why_ he walked away those first times?”

“He was scared of what his dad would do to him,” He says, hating that he’d resented Alex for so long for not knowing how to stand up to the man.

Maria shakes her head, “He was scared of what his dad would do to _you._ Don’t you get that? Alex can endure anything, _except_ letting someone else get hurt. Every time he walked away, he did it because he thought it would keep _you_ safe. I’m not saying he was right, he _wasn’t,_ but he _thought_ he was protecting you.” She pauses, then shrugs, “I guess you two have that in common. He left you to keep you safe and you ...you left him to keep you safe.”

“I ...I tried to keep him safe …”

“Like I said, the easy part. Fighting bad guys is easy, even if you don’t win. And yes, you fought like hell that night, but that doesn’t matter. We were beat from the start. We never stood a chance and Alex was going to give himself up to save us—to save _you_ —no matter what we did. _This_ is the hard part, Michael. Holding it together until we can go get him back. We’re going to do that, Michael. We’re going to bring Alex home.”

“How?”

“I don’t know,” Maria admits. “But we’ll do it, with or without you. It’ll just take longer without. A lot longer. So go ahead, sit here and take the easy way out and self-destruct. But Alex needs us now and _we’re_ not giving up on him, so if you’re ever ready to step up, you know where to find us.”

Michael stays where he is long after she leaves. Just sits uselessly in the dirt, trying to absorb her words. Is he really such a selfish person? Does he deflect when the time comes for genuine emotional labor? _Has_ Alex really just been trying to protect him all this time?

In the toolshed he’d stepped away and Michael had assumed he was trying to somehow lessen his father’s anger by putting distance between himself and his crime. Maybe he’d just been trying to give Michael an opening to escape while he took the punishment. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of Michael as his father dragged him away, after all. Although he couldn’t hear the conversation, Michael knew Alex’s father had spoken to him that night at the drive-in. He’d thought Alex was concerned about his reputation—and his family’s—but perhaps whatever his father said that night had been a threat. A subtle warning that he could make Michael disappear without any trouble; it’s not like Michael made it difficult for him. He’d glanced back then, too, for just an instant.

Even that night, that awful night so many months ago, Alex hadn’t stepped in until Michael couldn’t stand anymore. He hadn’t given himself away until it was the only way to keep Michael alive. And even then, he’d looked back at Michael one last time before he was taken away. Perhaps all this time, Alex hasn’t been so much walking away as leading away the danger to keep Michael safe.

Michael ought to know all about that. About putting himself in the line of fire so his loved ones don’t suffer. He took the hit for Alex in the toolshed. He let Isobel think he’d been the one to kill Rosa. He tried to make Alex leave at Caulfield. Lied to him to keep him safe. Hurt him, to protect him.

“Fuck.”

It’s dark by the time Michael finds the strength to get back to his feet. After midnight when he pulls up at the cabin. It takes another half an hour for him to work up the courage to actually walk inside. Once through the door he’s overcome by how wrong it is that Alex isn’t here. His presence is everywhere. Alex doesn’t have many possessions but they’re here and he’s not. His clothes, his jackets, his shoes. His laptop, his stupid backpack that Michael loves. His pills lined up neatly on the kitchen counter, his brand of coffee, his long spoiled leftovers in the fridge. His soap, his shampoo, his shower chair. His bedding. Even his smell.

Michael sits at the edge of Alex’s bed. He’s trapped somewhere between wanting to be lost in the remnants of him and wanting to preserve it all as it is. Somehow sitting there and crying for an hour seems like an appropriate middle ground.

He wonders what Alex is doing right now. What’s being done to him? Is he crying? Or is he holding strong, enduring as he always does? Is there any part of him that knows Michael really does love him? Or does he truly believe he’s alone in his ordeal? That no one will come to rescue him, and he’s damned to spend the rest of his life in chains? If Michael loves him hard enough, can he will even an ounce of hope to him? He’ll need to have hope to do that.

As much as he doesn’t want to go through Alex’s things without permission, Michael finds himself doing just that. It’s a long shot, but Alex knew the son of a bitch long before he’d snatched him up, so maybe there’s something here that can help him now. Something Alex had tucked away before knowing about aliens, without realizing its importance.

What he finds instead is a photograph hidden in his bedside table. It’s not the same one Michael has of them as kids, but it is from the same day. They’re sitting on a blanket, guitars set gently to the side. Michael is smiling at the camera, Alex is smiling at Michael. It’s harder to see Alex than it is Michael; his image is smudged, like his side of the picture has been touched over and over. Michael knows exactly why; when Alex looks at the picture, he must hold it so that his thumb covers himself. Erasing himself like that will somehow keep Michael safe, just like always.

Michael remembers the day they took this picture, and the one he kept. Max and Liz had been hanging out that afternoon. Max had invited Michael along and Liz had invited Alex. Michael had been thrilled at the chance to spend time with him, even if nothing came of it that day. Still, the universe had brought them together once. Or rather, the magnetic force between Max and Liz had pulled them in. Maybe it would again. Maybe …

It’s dawn by the time everyone arrives at the Crashdown, still half asleep and expecting a good explanation for Michael’s urgent calls. Kyle in particular looks wary; Michael will have to remember to apologize someday. He’s pretty sure they’ll be satisfied for now once he explains himself.

He exhales deeply, “I have an idea.”

Maria smirks, “There he is.”


	6. this is getting ridiculous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still trying to resurrect Max, Alex begins receiving unwanted attention from an old flame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Warnings for this chapter include stalking, references to domestic abuse, and ableism. This is a Before chapter.

It’s one forty seven in the morning the first time the phone rings. Alex jolts awake because if someone is calling him at almost two in the morning, it must be important. It’s either related to the Max Problem or the Project Shepherd Problem and therefore requires his immediate attention. And if it’s not one of those two, then someone must be injured, missing, or dead. Still a situation that requires his immediate attention.

Turns out the call is none of those things. Alex knows that without even having to answer it. The number displayed on the I.D. isn’t saved to his phone but it’s one he’d recognize anywhere. It’s also one he fully intends to never answer again, so he sends it to voicemail and slams the phone back down on the bedside table and goes back to sleep.

The second call comes in at two thirteen. Alex takes one look at the screen, sees the same number again, and sends it to voicemail too. When it rings a third time, it’s two thirty six and Alex doesn’t bother looking before rejecting it. He’s tempted to just turn the phone off for the night, but he’s too worried that if he does, someone will _actually_ need him and won’t be able to reach him. So he suffers through the constant interruptions of his sleep, knowing eventually the caller will give up. The fourth call—at two forty two—is treated the same way. At three on the dot the fifth call begins and is similarly discarded. This time it buzzes again after a minute, indicating that a message has been left. Alex drifts back into slumber knowing the battle is over for now.

***

Six a.m. and fully caffeinated, Alex finally listens to the message left for him the previous night.

_“Hey, Alex, it’s Trevor. Call me back at this number when you get this, okay?”_

Fully intending to do anything _but_ return the call, Alex deletes the message. He knows this game. The cat and mouse routine that’s been going on for eight years now. It’s been over a year since the last round, but there’s no reason for things to have changed now. He’ll get call after call every day or so. He just has to ignore them, send them to voicemail and delete the messages. The calls will stop soon enough; a month, maybe two and it’ll be over. For the time being. And the stalemate will go on. There’s no winning, not really. But there _is_ losing. And if Alex picks up, even once, he loses.

If he picks up the phone he’ll be pulled onto a dangerous path. One that will take him away from everything he’s gained, everything he’s built. His work undoing Project Shepherd. Reconnecting with Liz and Maria. Repairing his friendship with Kyle. The fragile _something_ he has with Michael. It’ll all be gone in an instant if he answers that call. Answering that call will drag Alex back into a cycle he’s not sure he’ll be able to escape from. He’d barely made it out alive the first time.

He has too much work to do to worry about that right now. He puts all thoughts of it aside and heads out to the bunker. There’s another day of examining every clue—no matter how ridiculous—he can find that might lead him to the last fragments of the console ahead of him. Now that he’s finally free of the Air Force, he’s been able to focus all his energy into the search. They’re so close now and then maybe they can save Max. All he needs to do is keep rejecting the calls and everything will be fine.

By noon, when Kyle forces him to take a break for lunch, Alex has seven missed calls and two voicemails.

_“Alex, it’s Trevor again. Call me back.”_

He deletes it.

_“Seriously, Alex, call me.”_

He deletes that one too.

“You okay?” Kyle asks, predictably, as they get ready to leave the bunker.

“Tired,” Alex admits, knowing giving some of the truth will get Kyle off his back faster than a total lie.

“I take it whoever called you didn’t have any good news,” Kyle says.

Alex shakes his head, “Spam.” Again not a total lie; the calls may not be the traditional definition of spam, but they’re spam to him.

Kyle laughs, “They delete your social security number? That happens to me all the time.”

Alex laughs too, “I bet it does.”

He gets another two calls before the end of the day and tells himself it’s no big deal. Just because it’s never happened with such frequency doesn’t mean this is any different than all the other times. 

It’s eleven when they leave the bunker to meet everyone at the Crashdown. They’ve done it at least once a month in the half a year since Max’s death. For a while they had consistent progress, pieces found and discoveries made. Lately things have been stagnant. There are hardly any fragments left of the console missing and it’s getting harder and harder to find them. On top of that, there’s the matter of the photo albums Alex and Michael found a month ago in the murder barn. Other than a few freakouts in the first couple of days, Alex thinks he’s doing a pretty good job suppressing his paranoia about it. 

The same can’t be said of everyone else. They’re not very subtle about looking over their shoulders when Alex is around, trying to spot anyone who might be watching him. It’s not like they can really tell if someone is taking a picture or not these days with almost everyone having a smartphone. And if anyone around him _is_ taking his picture, they could just be an innocent victim of Alien Mind Control, because _that’s_ a thing now. The discovery of Alex’s stalker—and the likelihood of them being another alien—has hit particularly close to home for Isobel; she’d nearly shattered all the windows in the Crashdown when they told her. Still, she’s taken to jumping into the mind of anyone who so much as glances in Alex’s direction, determined to find the stalker before the past repeats itself. Maria actually hired a bouncer for the Wild Pony just in case; Alex highly doubts the stalker will just show up and announce themselves there, but it’s a nice gesture. Liz has made up a fresh batch of her serum, enough for everyone to have a syringe of it on them at all times. Probably not the most practical idea, but it makes her feel better.

And somehow, they’ve decided that the best way to protect Alex’s privacy is destroy it completely. They almost never let him out of their collective sight nowadays. They text him constantly to make sure he’s safe; if he takes more than about ten minutes to reply the worried phone calls start coming in. Either Kyle or Michael meets him at the bunker every morning, works with him there throughout the day. Some days—when both Kyle and Michael have to work—Isobel stays there with him instead. Which totally isn’t awkward, not at all.

Any time he needs to go anywhere, someone escorts him. Usually Kyle or Michael, but pretty much everyone in the group will jump to volunteer if they’re both caught up in something else. Every night, no matter how busy he may be, Michael drives out to Alex’s cabin behind him. He checks the perimeter, waits while Alex looks through the footage from the security cameras he’s placed. 

When there’s nothing there, Michael offers to spend the night, just in case. _I’ll sleep out in the truck if you want,_ he says every time. It’s physically painful to turn him away. It takes all of Alex’s willpower. He’d give just about anything for Michael to stay with him. Or rather, he’d give anything for Michael to _want_ to stay. Not because he’s worried that Alex is in danger, but just because he wants to stay with Alex. But he’s not that lucky. Michael only offers because he thinks it’s the only way to keep Alex safe. Probably thinks he can make up for not catching Noah sooner—for failing, in his mind, to save both Rosa and Isobel from him—by catching this new stalker before anything happens.

But having had an entire month to reflect on it, Alex isn’t sure he’s in danger after all. For a solid decade someone’s been out there, following him. Watching him. Photographing him. Had managed to get into his room in a secure military hospital without anyone noticing. Or, possibly, had controlled someone already inside. It’s the most reasonable explanation for how his stalker has managed to follow him literally everywhere; they haven’t. They’ve simply been taking control of others already near Alex to take pictures for them. Which means they can probably control people from a distance, including anyone in their group. Possibly even Alex himself. If his stalker, whoever they are, hasn’t used that power to hurt him in all these years then maybe they never will. The fact that he keeps his gun _on_ his bedside table now, rather than in a locked box _inside_ it is totally unrelated.

So like every night since the mortifying discovery he says, “It’s fine, Guerin. Go home and get some sleep.”

“I can sleep outside,” Michael replies, like he always does. “Seriously, I’ve slept in my truck like a million times, it’s cool.”

“All the more reason why you should be sleeping in a bed,” Alex says.

Michael is particularly stubborn tonight, “You could at least crash at Valenti’s. I know he offered.”

“And like I told him, that’s not necessary.”

“I don’t like you being out here alone,” Michael admits. “You’re so far away from everything, if something happens …”

“My perimeter alarms give me a two minute heads up. That’s plenty of time to prepare myself for an intruder,” Alex reminds him for about the hundredth time. In the past preparing for an intruder had meant getting out his gun and getting his prosthetic on. Nowadays he’s had to add ready his syringe of serum and the bottle of pollen Liz had given him to that list. “And make a phone call if I need to.”

“Yeah but it takes so long to get here,” Michael points out. “You could be murdered or kidnapped or something before anyone gets here.”

“Maybe. But if Isobel’s right and this person can control minds, there’s not much any of us can do about it. In fact, there’s literally nothing we can do about it unless we happen to catch them off guard.”

“It’s still safer for you to be with other people,” Michael insists.

“Not if they try to use you to—hang on,” Alex is cut off by yet another phone call. That’s fifteen in twenty-four hours. The old record was eight.

“Who the fuck is calling you at one in the morning?” Michael asks.

Alex shakes his head, “No one important. Anyway, like I was saying, you should really get some rest. I’ll be okay on my own.”

Unfortunately, Michael doesn’t miss the hint of tension in Alex’s voice and presses, “Are you sure it’s no one?”

“No one _important,_ ” Alex repeats. “Seriously, Guerin, it’s fine. Go home, sleep.”

“You’re being stalked—probably by an alien—and now you’re getting one a.m. calls and you’re not concerned about it?”

Alex rubs a hand over his face and sighs, “Oh, Guerin, _please,_ I really don’t wanna have this conversation right now. I just wanna get some sleep. If it really means that much to you, fine, stay the night.”

Michael, apparently too stunned at Alex actually giving in, doesn’t answer. Alex tosses him an extra blanket and a pillow before shutting himself into his bedroom. He really is too tired for this right now. And in truth, he _does_ feel safer with Michael there. Alex has always felt safer when Michael’s near him. That’s half the reason they can never be; nothing good ever happens when Alex feels safe. But surely one night can’t hurt.

That’s the lie he tells himself as he crawls into bed. One night of letting Michael ease his conscience won’t hurt. They’re not doing anything wrong. Just one maybe-sort-of-almost friend looking out for another. Tomorrow things will be normal again and Alex will be rested. He’ll have readjusted to the phone calls and added discarding them to his daily routine. He’s just thrown today because of them, that’s all. Tomorrow he’ll have the strength again to keep himself steady and send Michael away. Back to Maria, where he belongs. He’s already kept Michael from her long enough. Alex knows what a precious thing time is, and he’s not going to waste theirs on himself.

***

_“Alex, answer the phone already.”_

_“Call me back, Alex, I mean it.”_

_“You’re being very childish right now, you know that?”_

_“Answer. The Goddamn. Phone. Asshole.”_

_“It’s Trevor. Call me.”_

_“Would you stop sending me to voicemail, already? Seriously, Alex, just give me a call back, will that kill you?”_

_“Trevor again. Pretty sure you know that. Call me back.”_

_“Listen you little bitch, I swear to_ fucking _God if you don’t pick up the fucking phone when I call next you will be fucking sorry. You hear me, Alex? You’ve got_ no _business ignoring me like this. Who do you think you are, huh? Goddamn bitch. You think I’m fucking around here? You better stop rejecting my calls or you’re gonna regret it. Fucking bitch.”_

 _“I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. I didn’t mean that, Alex, I swear. I shouldn’t have said any of that to you. You know how much you mean to me, baby. I would never say or do anything to hurt you. I just wish I could say the same about_ you _. Kinda hurts that you keep rejecting my calls. I’m just saying.”_

_“Okay, this is really getting annoying now.”_

“Glad we finally agree on something,” Alex mutters, deleting the latest message.

Four days of calls, at least twenty a day. Nine or ten voicemails, sometimes more. Today the count is at twenty-two and it’s still mid-afternoon. It’s getting harder for Alex to convince himself that it’s the same as all the other times. It’s never been this persistent. The average has always been five or six calls and only one or two voicemails at most. But this is getting ridiculous. The son of a bitch just won’t stop. And worse, the others are starting to notice.

They’re not very good at hiding the fact that they’re watching him whenever his phone rings and he sends it right to voicemail. They try to be subtle when they ask him about it but they can’t hide their fear too well. Even Rosa, who’s been busy struggling with coming to terms with everything that’s happened to her, has begun asking him about the calls. Alex can’t tell what, exactly, they’re so nervous about though. He’d tell them if they were in any danger from the person on the other line, they ought to know that. He’s a little insulted that apparently they don’t.

“They wanna know if you checked the children?” Liz asks, setting his and Kyle’s lunches down in front of them.

It’s rare that she’s able to get her mind off of their desperate plan to save Max, so Alex humors her, “Yeah, shame I haven’t been a frightened teenage babysitter in some time now.”

“Well,” Liz says, “as long as the calls aren’t coming from inside the house.”

“Oh they are,” Alex replies, “I’m actually calling _myself._ ”

Giving up for the moment, Liz fakes a laugh and goes back to the counter. Alex hates to see her distressed but he can’t possibly explain the calls to her. It would only upset her to actually know the truth behind them. He can only hope that she—and everyone else—will forget all about them when they finally stop.

“Alex,” Kyle starts.

“Dont,” Alex says, swishing a french fry in his milkshake. “It’s _nothing._ ”

“Have you considered just blocking the number?” Kyle suggests carefully.

“If I do that the terrorists will win,” Alex teases. “Trust me, Kyle, you don’t have to worry about it. Now can we please just eat?”

Kyle drops the matter but still gives his usual “I know there’s more to this” look that Alex is a pro at ignoring by now. It’s not a bad idea, blocking the number, but Alex knows it won’t do any good. He’s already tried it before and the calls resumed a day later from a different number. The message left after that had been particularly offended. Changing his own number had staved them off for a few months, but unsurprisingly his number eventually made its way to his caller. That voicemail had made all previous ones seem tame.

By the time a week goes by, everyone stops even trying to be subtle about the phone calls. Which are now reaching a _minimum_ of thirty per day, with anywhere from fifteen to twenty voicemails. Alex, who already got only a tiny amount of sleep to start with, is up all night rejecting calls. He’s exhausted and the worst part is that he’s not even accomplishing anything. 

There aren’t any leads on either the remaining console fragments or Project Shepherd. He’s at a standstill, unable to help anyone or anything. The way things are now, he can’t help Max and he can’t keep Michael and Isobel safe from his father. Even when he tries to make up for the hideousness of his family he fails.

“You _can_ tell me what that’s all about, you know that right?” Kyle asks on the eleventh day of calls. Night, really; they’ve just called it for the day and are about to go home.

“I can’t, actually,” Alex replies, “I was cursed by a witch and now if I talk about it, I’ll turn into a cat.”

“Very funny,” Kyle mutters.

Michael, as usual, is waiting for them right outside the bunker. He looks at Kyle, who shakes his head, and groans in disappointment. Alex pretends not to notice and gets into his car.

“I can stay,” comes Michael’s nightly offer when they’ve gone through their nightly routine. He’s standing near the door while Alex sits on his couch, his laptop on the table in front of him. Like every night, there was nothing unusual about his security footage.

Alex sighs, so ready for all of this to be over, “It’s okay, go on home.”

“I don’t want to,” Michael says.

Alex is a little thrown by that, “What?”

“I don’t want to,” Michael repeats. “I don’t wanna go home. I don’t wanna be a fucking hour away from you with all this going on.”

“There’s nothing going on, Guerin.”

Michael shakes his head, “So you’re _not_ getting a hundred weird calls every day? And we _didn’t_ find a giant stockpile of pictures of you in a murder barn?”

“Look, these calls are nothing you need to worry about, okay? I promise,” Alex says. “As for the pictures, I ...I know I freaked out that day. I know I didn’t handle it well. But to be honest, I’m not worried about it anymore.”

“You’re being _stalked,_ Alex,” Michael reminds him, stepping closer.

Alex sighs, “I’m not so sure I am. I mean, I definitely _was,_ but ...they stopped. I think ...I think whoever was taking those pictures gave up.”

“Gave up? _Why_ would you think that?” Michael asks.

“For one thing, it didn’t look like anyone had been in that room for months. And the last picture was over a year ago.”

“So what? They just decided to stop one day?”

Alex shrugs, “Maybe they got bored of me. Maybe they’ve lost interest now that I’m …” He pauses, rubs his knee softly and tries not to wallow in the bizarre self-pity that comes with knowing even a decade-long stalker doesn’t want him anymore. “Now that I’m deformed.”

“Alex you are not _deformed,_ ” Michael snaps. “Why the fuck would you even think that?”

“It’s a dealbreaker, Guerin,” Alex admits. “For a lot of people. Most, probably.”

“ _What_ is? That you have a prosthetic? _That’s_ a dealbreaker?” Michael questions.

“Yeah. Some people are ...disturbed by it. Physically. They don’t want to look at it or touch it or anything. Other people see it and know it means I come with a lot of baggage. And I’m not exactly _easy_ to deal with in the first place, so …”

Alex hasn’t seen Michael look so angry in a while. Not since he’d given him the sizable piece of the console Jim Valenti left behind. He understood why he was mad then. He doesn’t now. There’s no reason for anger this time, really. None of this is new information. Michael knows better than anyone how difficult Alex is to deal with. Even he can’t do it for too long. And he has the benefit of having known Alex when he was ...well, somewhat easier. New prospective lovers? All they have is the Alex that exists now and he hardly does himself any favors. Not that he’s bitter about it. He’s known for a while that a lifelong romance isn’t really in the cards for him, no matter what teenage fantasies still linger in the back of his mind. Even if he was a better person himself, it still wouldn’t happen. Not with the bloodstained legacy he comes from.

_“Who the_ fuck _told you that shit?”_ Michael demands, his face red and the vein in his neck bulging. The coffee table shakes slightly.

“I ...no one, no one outright _said_ it,” Alex explains, “that would be rude. I-it’s just a bunch of little things.”

_“What_ little things?”

“Like, like ...okay, a few months back, I was talking to this guy at the Pony. It was going really well, and then he kinda bumped into me and noticed. I figured ‘well I can’t hide it now’ so I showed him. He takes one look at it and goes ‘that’s gross, dude’ and leaves.”

“Who?” Michael questions. “Who the hell was this asshole?”

“Guerin, that’s not the point.”

“No, I wanna know who—” 

Michael’s cut off by the sound of Alex’s phone. A second too late, Alex realizes he left it in his jacket pocket. And his jacket is hanging up half a foot behind Michael, who mentally yanks the wretched device straight into his hand without turning around.

“Guerin, don’t!” Alex jumps to his feet but he’s already too late.

_“Stop fucking calling here!”_ Michael screams into Alex’s phone. _“He doesn’t wanna fucking talk to you, dipshit!”_

_“Guerin,”_ Alex’s hands cover his mouth, trying to hold back the dread now filling him, _“no.”_

“What? Who gives a fuck? It’s _nothing,_ right?” Michael tosses Alex’s phone onto the coffee table, fully ignorant of what he’s just done.

Alex shakes his head, “Why did you do that? I told you to leave it alone!”

“You say a lot of stupid shit, Alex.”

“Get out,” Alex orders.

“Alex,”

“I said get out! Now, Guerin! Get out of my house! Leave!”

“No,” Michael refuses. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell’s going on, Alex.”

Alex laughs bitterly at the irony of Michael deciding to take interest in his life now of all times. He’s never cared before, never asked him anything about, well, anything. So of course, the one time Alex _doesn’t_ want him to ask questions is when he does.

“I don’t believe this. I ...I am not having this conversation,” He says, shaking his head. “I’m going to bed. You do what you want, but do not ever touch my fucking phone again.”

With that he snatches said phone from the coffee table and storms to his bedroom, ignoring Michael’s attempts to stop him. He slams the door behind him. It doesn’t have a lock, but even if it did that won’t actually stop Michael from getting in if he really tries. Alex just has to hope that he’ll have enough respect to leave him alone. Or that his outburst was enough to annoy him into leaving.

Not bothering to even turn on the lights, Alex sits on his bed and drops his phone onto his pillow. It’s already ringing again, its glow the only light in the room. He lets it ring instead of outright rejecting the call this time. For an instant, he almost considers answering it. It might be easier to give in than to find the energy to fight it after Michael’s little stunt. There will be even more calls now. The phone definitely won’t stop tonight for more than a few minutes. The daily calls will be doubled, at least. He’ll get voicemail after voicemail, each angrier than the last. It’s only the knowledge of what he’ll be exposing his friends to if he goes down that road again that keeps him from answering.

He’s not surprised when a voicemail is left behind. Hands shaking, he listens to the message.

_“Who the_ fuck _was that?”_

Alex barely has time to delete the message when the phone rings again. He rejects the call and another one comes in almost instantly. Trust Michael to poke the beast rather than let it wear itself out.

_“Answer this Goddamn phone Alex.”_

_“You whore.”_

_“Think you’re too good for me now, bitch?”_

_“I see how it is. Got yourself a new man and suddenly you’re above everybody else. Jokes on you, bitch, he’s not even man enough to do more than scream and hang up. Is that who you wanna spend your life with? You think he’s gonna hold you close when things get rough? He’s gonna run out on you, Alex, and you’re gonna come crawling back to me and you fucking know it.”_

_“Guess the reason you haven’t been answering is you’re too busy sucking his dick.”_

_“He’s using you, you stupid slut. He’ll break your heart. And you deserve it.”_

_“One of these days you’re gonna be_ begging _me to take you back and I’m just gonna sit back and watch you suffer.”_

_“Where’s your big, strong man now, Alex? Huh? Where is he? He got nothing more to say? No, I didn’t think so. He’s a coward, just like you. He know you’re a certified slut? I bet not. I bet he’d be out the door in a heartbeat if he knew half of what I know. You’re such a bitch.”_

By dawn Alex is pretty sure he might actually vomit. His phone hasn’t stopped and he hasn’t slept a wink. Hard as he tries he can’t stop from trembling. He’s lost track of how many voicemails he’s had to delete. Of how many times he’s hit reject. At this point he won’t be surprised if the bastard just shows up at his door. If that happens he’s not sure he can keep everyone else out of it. 

It takes tremendous effort to finally get to his feet and force himself to shower. The phone keeps on ringing the whole time. When he returns to his living room he’s both relieved and disappointed that Michael is gone. As much as he wishes Michael would stay with him, he’s not up for another argument. And he hasn’t come up with a good story to give him, now that he’s made it clear he won’t stop asking about the caller.

He spends an extra hour sitting at his kitchen table sipping his coffee in an attempt to keep his head on straight. He’s in for a rough day and he needs to be able to think. Today he takes his crutch with him, needing the extra support after such a lousy night. For once he gets lucky, though, and by seven the calls have stopped for a full half an hour. Unfortunately, that’s as far as his luck goes; Michael’s truck is still parked outside the cabin. 

With a heavy sigh, Alex walks over and knocks on the window to wake him up, “Go home, Guerin, it’s morning!”

Michael sits up in alarm, his hat falling from where it had been covering his face. He looks around for a moment and opens the door, “Alex, wait a second.”

“I’ve got work to do, Guerin,” Alex says, already halfway to his car. “And as nice as Maria is, I’m sure she doesn’t appreciate her boyfriend trying to spend every night at his ex’s house.”

“Alex, _wait!”_ Michael calls after him.

It’s only when his keys are plucked from his hand by an invisible force that Alex turns around, “Did you just _steal_ my car keys?”

“I,” Michael shrugs, “you weren’t stopping.”

Alex holds his hand out, “Give me my damn keys back, Guerin.”

“Why won’t you tell me what’s going on, Alex?”

“Because it’s none of your business. It’s got literally _nothing_ to do with you,” Alex swears.

“But you’re upset about it,” Michael points out.

“That’s not your problem.”

Michael looks hurt by that, though Alex isn’t sure why he would be. It’s _not_ his problem. Alex is trying to get him to understand that. That he doesn’t need to worry about it. He can focus on more important matters, like saving Max. And pretty much anything else.

“I thought we were friends, Alex.”

“That still doesn’t make this your problem. You’ve got enough on your plate. I will deal with it, okay?”

Michael looks like he’s readying some stinging remark when Alex’s phone buzzes again and he huffs, “Seriously?”

Alex sighs, “It’s a text. Probably Kyle wondering why I’m not there yet.”

He takes his phone out to reply and assure Kyle he’s on his way. Instead he almost drops the phone. The text isn’t from Kyle. It’s a picture. A fragment of the console above the caption, _you sure you don’t want to answer the phone?_

Alex looks at Michael, wide-eyed, “You know how I said those calls have nothing to do with you?”

Michael looks as confused as he does worried, “Yeah?”

“I may have been mistaken.”


	7. lip gloss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex makes a deal to obtain a fragment of Michael's console. Michael's attempt to help backfires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter picks up where the last one left off.
> 
> Warnings for: referenced domestic violence, off screen non-con, victim blaming, slut shaming, emotional and mental manipulation.

“I’m sorry, _who_ is this guy, exactly?” Isobel asks.

It’s a fair question. One Michael’s already asked several times and received only vague _I’ll explain everything_ responses to. He’d watched Alex struggle to keep himself together, then storm back into his cabin to return his endless stream of clearly unwanted phone calls. He’s been patient for hours, waiting for some explanation as to who this annoyingly persistent man is and why he has a fragment of their ship. Now that they’re all together in Isobel’s living room—the safest and easiest place for them to gather in the middle of the day—maybe Alex will finally give a real answer.

“His name is Trevor Teave,” Alex explains. “He’s …an old friend. From the Airforce.”

Kyle gives an unconvinced look that Michael fully supports despite his less than pleasant feelings towards him, “An old friend who harasses you with never ending phone calls?”

“I didn’t say he was a _good_ friend, Kyle,” Alex remarks. Michael wants to question that more—everyone does, by the looks on their faces—but Alex moves on before they can, “Look, the point is, he’s got a fragment of the console.”

“Yes, you said that,” Isobel says, “but _how_ did he get it?”

Alex shakes his head, “I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me over the phone.”

In spite of his best efforts Michael hadn’t been able to actually hear the conversation. Alex is, after all, better at keeping things to himself than anyone he knows. Which is especially impressive considering Michael’s life has literally depended on keeping secrets for the last twenty years. No, all he’d managed to hear was the tone of Alex’s voice. He sounded somewhere between airman mode and genuine vulnerability. Fear, almost. Michael wants this Trevor out of their lives—out of _Alex’s_ life—and fast.

“What _did_ he say?” Liz asks.

“He said he’s willing to sell it to me,” Alex replies. “He wants me to meet him tomorrow in Santa Fe to make the deal.”

“Do you trust him, Alex?” Liz asks.

Alex hesitates, “He’s never lied to me before. If he says he wants to sell me the fragment, I believe him.”

It’s not a real answer to Liz’s question. They all know that. But it’s also the only answer they’re going to get out of him. Michael wants to head out to Santa Fe by himself and just take the damn thing. And give this guy a piece of his mind. But he can’t do that until he finds out _where_ in Santa Fe he actually is.

“Alright, where do we meet this guy?” He asks, hoping his plan to scare the fragment off of him—and maybe break a finger or two—isn’t obvious.

“We?” Alex questions. “No. _Me._ He said to come alone. I’ll leave first thing in the morning. Be back either tomorrow night or maybe the day after.”

“You’re not going alone,” Michael says.

“Oh, okay,” Alex replies, “I forgot you were in charge of my decisions.”

Michael shakes his head, “I didn’t mean …how do you know this isn’t a trap or something?”

“Like I said, he’s never lied before. It’s …kind of a thing, with him. He wants us both to come alone. I know he will, so if anyone else comes with me he’ll get defensive about how he kept up his end of the deal and I didn’t. And then he might decide not to sell me the fragment.”

“He will if I _make_ him,” Michael remarks. He wants to hurt this guy more and more every second.

Alex laughs, though there’s no humor in it, “Guerin, if you show up and try your whole Carrie White routine on him, he’s going to fucking _laugh_ at you.”

“He won’t—”

“Yeah, he will,” Alex cuts him off. “Trust me, this is not a guy you can intimidate. And since somehow he knows that we’re trying to get the pieces of the console, we have to assume he already knows about you. But if he _doesn’t_ know, we don’t need him finding out.”

“Is he a part of Project Shepherd?” Kyle asks.

Alex shrugs, “I haven’t come across his name on any of the files, but I guess it’s possible. I don’t think so, though, he’s not the kind of guy my dad would recruit.”

“This whole thing seems really suspicious, Alex,” Maria comments. “I don’t think you should go.”

“Maria’s right,” Isobel says. Michael’s pretty sure it’s the first time she’s ever said it, and it couldn’t be at a better time. “I mean, how do you know he’s not the one who took all those pictures of you?”

“He’s not,” Alex states.

“No, Isobel has a point,” Maria says, “he’s certainly obsessed enough with you.”

“He is not obsessed with me,” Alex insists.

Isobel nods sarcastically, “Right. He just calls you fifty times a day.”

“Not obsessive behavior at all,” Maria adds.

How Alex can still deny that something’s wrong here when even Isobel and Maria—who by all accounts, still can’t stand one another—are in complete agreement is beyond Michael’s understanding. He knows there’s not much Alex can’t handle, but what little they know about this Trevor is a series of red flags waving wildly around them.

Alex huffs and rolls his eyes, “He’s _in_ some of the pictures, guys. And he was in the military, so it’s safe to say he’s human.”

“Humans can be stalkers,” Kyle points out.

Michael nods, “Statistically most of the stalkers on this planet are human.”

“Look,” Alex says, “I’m not asking anyone to be happy with this. I’m just asking you guys to trust me on it. If anyone can think of a better plan—that _doesn’t_ involve Guerin and Isobel risking exposure—by all means, let me know. If not, our only chance of getting that piece is if I take his deal and buy it from him.”

There’s a long silence. Everyone is clearly trying to come up with another idea, but there doesn't seem to be any. Michael’s still in favor of just showing up and taking it by force, but that really _could_ land him locked away in some government lab. Isobel hasn’t been particularly stable lately, and her powers might not be strong enough at the moment to convince this Trevor to just hand the fragment over. He hates to admit it, but Alex is right; there is no other option that won’t risk exposing him and Isobel.

And maybe they’re not giving Alex enough credit. After all, he knows Trevor and they don’t. It’s clear he sees all the warning signs, otherwise he wouldn’t have been ignoring his calls for so long. Logically, Michael knows he has to just let Alex handle this, but when it comes to Alex he’s never been very logical. There’s just no way he can stay behind and wait while Alex goes to see a guy he’s obviously been avoiding for a very good reason.

“How much is he asking for?” Isobel asks, resigned.

“Let me worry about that,” Alex replies.

“No, if we can’t help I at least wanna pay for it,” Isobel insists.

“Isobel, trust me, I’ve got it,” Alex says. 

She tries to argue about it for a while longer, but Alex won’t budge. Michael knows she doesn’t stand a chance of changing his mind unless she actually tampers with it, but she doesn’t realize that yet. He stays quiet through it all. There’s something more to this and Michael knows it. Alex has been putting on his best “everything’s alright” act, but those phone calls have obviously been taking their toll on him. Despite his assurances that he’s got this situation under control, Michael can tell Alex is worried too. But getting Alex to admit that he’s nervous about something is like getting blood from a stone, so there’s not a whole lot Michael can do at the moment. He’s never met Trevor Teave, but he hates him already.

***

Alex leaves for Santa Fe at dawn. It’s not the longest drive he’s ever had to make, not by a long shot, but it certainly feels that way. An hour in his heart starts pounding. Two hours in and he has to pull over to steady his breathing. By the time he finally gets there, almost four hours after departing, he’s ready to just turn right back around and forget everything. It takes several minutes of deep breathing exercises for him to focus again. He can do this. People are counting on him. People he loves. He checks into his hotel three hours before he has to meet Trevor. More than enough time to prepare. And he has a lot of preparing to do.

First things first, he needs to make a few purchases. Purchases that had to wait until now; he doesn’t want to risk anyone finding out about them. The ridiculously expensive store isn’t too far from his hotel. He politely informs the saleswomen that he doesn’t need any help, he knows exactly what he’s looking for. He could pick out everything he needs blindfolded. The exfoliating body scrub, the body wash, the shave gel, the moisturizing lotion, the shampoo and conditioner. All in black bottles decorated with little fake diamonds. He pays in cash; it’s not like anyone is looking at his bank statements, but he’s not leaving anything to chance.

Deciding to spare his wallet from too much abuse, he decides to go to Target for the remainder of his needs. The rest of what he has to get doesn’t need to be so high end anyway. Makeup first; eyeliner, eyeshadow, lip gloss, two bottles of nailpolish. Next, a fresh razor. His hands only shake a little when he drops the box of condoms and the bottle of lubricant into his cart. He goes to the self-checkout register and pays in cash again.

When he gets back to his hotel room, he has two hours and twenty minutes left. Maybe he doesn’t have more than enough time after all. He wastes almost ten minutes just sitting at the edge of the bed trying to get his breathing under control again. For once the fact that he now needs to use a chair in the shower is helpful; sitting keeps him from falling to his knees as he readies himself. Luckily his hands are practiced in this particular skincare routine and he’s able to get through most of it on muscle memory alone.

It’s the shaving that actually takes the longest. After his hair is washed and his skin is exfoliated and cleaned, he has to start focusing on his task again. Carefully lathering the shave gel over his skin, cautiously running the blade over it. All body hair has to be removed and it takes time to do so. He uses the body wash again when he’s finally cleared away every hair, skin as bare as the day he was born. Once out of the shower he shaves his face, too and is liberal with spreading the moisturizing lotion over his entire body.

If someone had asked Alex eight years ago what the hell black raspberries and vanilla smelled like, his only answer would have been a blank stare. Now, though, now it’s a scent he’ll never mistake. One he’ll probably never fully get rid of. He’s bathed in it far too often.

By the time he’s clean and shaven and properly _moisturized,_ Alex has one hour and eight minutes to go. He dresses slowly, puts his prosthetic back on slowly, then gets to work on his nails. First a nice coat of solid black polish, then a top coat of gold glitter, making his nails look like a starry sky when they’re done. Next is the eyeliner, a soft shade of brown that’s harder to notice than the black he used to wear and a layer of the gold eyeshadow light enough that it too will be difficult to notice. The lip gloss is light pink with a slight sheen to it and a hint of sparkle. Not enough for anyone to think it’s anything more than lip balm unless they look closely. He knows Trevor would prefer it if his makeup stood out clearly, but Alex isn’t interested in doing anything more than meeting him halfway. Trevor will just have to be satisfied that Alex dressed up at all. Alex really doesn’t need to attract any unwanted attention. 

Fully dressed and makeup applied, the countdown is at forty-five minutes. After a few deep breaths, he puts the condoms and the bottle of lube in the high-end bag the skin products had come in. He tugs his leather jacket on with thirty-nine minutes left and reaches for the last necessity. The wide gold cuff fits perfectly over his wrist, just as it did the last time he wore it. Alex had tried to give the bracelet back multiple times but somehow always ended up keeping it.

There are thirty-three minutes remaining when he leaves the hotel, twenty-nine when he pulls up at the designated place. He sits in his car and tries not to hyperventilate.

“You can do this,” He says, staring at his reflection in the rearview mirror. “You’ve got this, Alex, you’ve got this. It’s just one afternoon. Just this once. One last time. And that’s it. You’re gonna leave here with the fragment and never look back.”

He walks into the hotel bar at exactly the appointed time. It’s an elegant place, nothing like the Wild Pony. Not the kind of place Alex would usually go to, but it suits Trevor fine. Alex is entirely unsurprised to see him already waiting for him at a table. He looks just as Alex remembers him; tall, muscular build, thick wavy locks of dark blonde hair. Full lips and strong jaw. Small scar on his left temple, mostly hidden under his hairline. Hazel eyes that pierce right through all they see. With one last steadying breath, Alex approaches him, leaning on his crutch for much needed support.

“Trevor,” He greets, keeping his voice professional as he sits down across from him and sets the bag beneath the table.

Trevor smiles at him, “Alex. Don’t you look _spectacular?”_

“Thank you,” Alex replies, “but I didn’t come here to be complimented. I came here to discuss our deal.”

“So _serious,_ ” Trevor teases, his smooth voice getting into Alex’s head more than he cares to admit. “Is your new man not giving it to you enough?”

“Trevor, this is business,” Alex says.

Trevor lifts his glass of scotch to his lips, “If you say so.”

“Did you bring the fragment?” Alex asks.

“Did I bring the fragment,” Trevor repeats, rolling his eyes. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a jewelry box, which he slides halfway across the table before opening. Inside is the fragment, as promised. It’s small enough to fit in Alex’s palm yet still large enough to be an essential part of saving Max. Without thinking, Alex reaches forward to touch it. Trevor snaps the box closed and puts it back in his pocket, “Not so fast, sweetheart. You just got here. Let’s talk first.”

Alex sighs, his hand flat on the table, “About what?”

Trevor shrugs, “Anything. You haven’t spoken to me in three years now, I’d like to know what’s going on in your life.”

“That’s a very broad question,” Alex points out.

“You want me to narrow it down? Okay, I’ll just get right to it. Who’s this new guy of yours?”

“I don’t have a new guy,” Alex says. He doesn’t want Trevor to know he’s single—it’ll only add fuel to the fire—but he can’t lie to him. Trying to always backfires. “That was a friend who answered the phone.”

“A friend?” Trevor looks skeptical. “A friend answering your phone in the middle of the night?”

“Is that a crime?” Alex asks, rather than try to argue.

“Suppose not,” Trevor admits. “Can’t say I like him though, being at your house so late and answering _your_ phone. He was rude, Alex, _very_ rude.”

“That’s just how he is,” Alex says. He doesn’t want Trevor talking about Michael. Doesn’t want Trevor _thinking_ about Michael.

He smirks suddenly, “Wait a minute. He’s _the_ guy, isn’t he? Your tragic lost love?”

Alex hesitates, shifts uncomfortably. Lying won’t work and he doesn’t want to deny his love for Michael anyway, not even to Trevor. Instead he changes the subject, “How did you get it?”

“I stole it,” Trevor admits freely.

“From?”

Trevor smirks, “Who do you think, little bunny?”

He doesn’t remember exactly when Trevor started calling him that or why. What he does know is that he hates the nickname, which seems to make Trevor like using it even more.

Alex laughs bitterly, “So you _are_ working for my dad. I should’ve fucking known.”

“ _Was,_ ” Trevor clarifies. “He fired me, three years ago. Right after you unceremoniously _abandoned_ me, not a great month.”

“So, what, he hired you to watch me? And fired you when I left?” Alex doesn’t want to be hurt at the thought. His relationship with Trevor wasn’t a good one by any measure, but he’s still the only person other than Michael that Alex had ever imagined a future with. Not a good future, he realizes now, but at the time he’d believed as much.

Trevor shakes his head, waves his hand dismissively, “No, no, nothing like that. Your father never knew you and I were even involved, I swear it. In fact the whole reason he fired me was because your stupid brother had to go and out me to him.”

“Which one?”

“Flint, who else? I’ve never even met the other two,” Trevor says. “He also threatened to kill me if I ever spoke to you again, but I suppose that’s just what big brothers do.”

It makes sense. Flint _had_ been the only person Alex has ever told about Trevor until now. And he’d been the one Alex had gone to when he finally left him for good. On leave, the two of them traveling together, his own identity fading away to what Trevor wanted him to be and his mind lost in the idea that love was just like that. That the tender, delicate love he’d had with Michael was just a fluke. Just a silly teenage dream that could never hold up in the real world.

He’d been sitting on the kitchen floor in their hotel, bloody and shaking, when he realized what was really happening. And for once the universe had worked in his favor; Flint was living off base in an apartment not far from their hotel. He’d spoken to Alex coldly when he arrived unannounced, but he pressed an ice pack against his bruised face and let him sleep on his couch. The next morning he’d gone with Alex to collect his things from the hotel and allowed him to stay in his apartment until his leave was up. Until today, Alex hasn’t seen Trevor face to face since.

It just makes the fact that Flint is a part of Project Shepherd hurt all the more. Even with the rift their father had torn between them, they’d still been brothers. Flint had still watched his back when he was threatened by anyone else. Anyone who didn’t bear the Manes name. He’d stared Trevor down unflinchingly and apparently had gone the extra mile to tell him off and get him fired after Alex left. When their father wasn’t involved, he’d still been Alex’s brother. That’s gone now and he’ll never get it back.

“So you stole that to get back at him?” Alex asks.

“You could say that,” Trevor replies. “I kind of just wanted it. Personally I don’t think Project Shepherd is necessary or effective, but it was intriguing so I accepted the offer.”

“You didn’t believe in his cause?”

Trevor smirks, “I think the people who crashed here seventy years ago are about as much a threat to this planet as Zim. Your father is a fool but I was interested in whatever I could learn from the project.”

Alex knows there’s more to it than that. But he’s not going to find out what by pushing, and his concern at the moment is the fragment, so he nods, “That’s fair. But how did you know _I_ was looking for it?”

“I just know you so well.”

“Funny,” Alex mutters. Another answer he isn’t going to get right now.

“I am. But you know, you’re not getting it for free.”

“Of course I’m not,” Alex remarks. He nudges the bag beneath the table lightly with his foot. “That’s why I brought payment.”

Trevor snickers, “Oh, Alex, you don’t really think I meant _money,_ do you?”

Alex counters his snickering with a sharp look and asks, “You really think there’s _money_ in this bag?”

“That’s my boy,” Trevor says with a grin, reaching out and running his fingers over Alex’s hand. He gently pushes the end of his sleeve up to reveal the gold cuff on his wrist. There’s an emblem engraved in the middle of it; a pair of crossed swords with bolts of lightning behind them. Alex isn’t entirely sure what that’s supposed to mean, other than that it’s apparently Trevor’s family crest. Trevor traces his fingers over the emblem, “You kept it.”

“You literally wouldn’t take it back,” Alex states.

“It was a gift,” Trevor replies, “And you could’ve just thrown it away if you didn’t want it.”

“That would be rude,” Alex says, though he knows it’s a poor excuse. He doesn’t honestly know why he hasn’t done just that. Or maybe he does, and just doesn’t want to admit he’s afraid of what Trevor would do if he did throw the bracelet away.

“You tell yourself that, sweetheart.”

Alex takes his hand back, “Look, we’re here to make an exchange and that’s it. So let’s do what we came to do and be done with it.”

“Well,” Trevor stands and holds a hand out for Alex, “who am I to argue with that?”

Alex takes his hand without a word and lets himself be helped to his feet. Trevor takes the bag off the floor for him and runs a finger down the side of Alex’s face. It makes him want to claw the skin off. He resists the urge and closes his eyes for a moment to regain his composure. When he opens them again, Trevor has his crutch and is holding out his arm. Reluctantly Alex takes it and Trevor guides him out of the bar and into the hotel proper. 

“I’ve missed you,” Trevor says as they step into the elevator.

“I haven’t,” Alex replies.

“So much for not being rude,” Trevor remarks. “I was worried, you know, when I heard about your accident. I’d have written but I didn’t know exactly where you were and the only person I figured would know was, well, Flint. I doubt he’d have been very forthcoming.”

“Probably not,” Alex agrees. Somehow it hurts to know that Trevor, of all people, had tried to contact him while he was in the hospital. No one else had. 

Trevor reaches out and cups Alex’s face gently, “I still love you, Alex. I always have.”

Alex pulls away as the elevator doors open, steps out and sighs, “Let’s get this over with.”

***

Michael watches the room through the mirror behind the bar. It’s not his kind of place by a long shot, and it doesn’t seem like Alex’s either, which makes him hate Trevor Teave even more. A rich, spoiled snob, probably. Michael would stick out like a sore thumb here were he not wearing an outfit of Noah’s that Isobel hasn’t gotten rid of yet. Or if she hadn’t been kind enough to spend a solid hour taming his damn hair for him. It had taken a lot to convince her to search Alex’s mind and find out where and when he was meeting Trevor. She’d only caved when he pointed out that Alex would be too far away for anyone to help him if something happened. And promised that he would just watch, not interfere.

He made sure to arrive half an hour before Alex is supposed to and find himself a spot where he won’t be noticed. Now he’s sitting with a glass of water, knowing he needs to be sober in order to keep his promise to not interfere, and keeps an eye on everything going on behind him through the mirror. There’s a man sitting alone at a table he thinks might be Trevor—he looks vaguely familiar, and Alex _did_ say he was in some of his stalker’s pictures—but he can’t be sure until Alex arrives.

And Alex is nothing if not punctual, arriving at precisely the agreed time. Michael’s heart stops when he sees him. His nails are painted and his lips are shiny and there’s definitely a shimmer of gold over his eyes. Anyone who doesn’t know Alex might not notice, but Michael does. He knows every little detail of Alex’s face and any change, no matter how tiny, sticks out to him. He looks beautiful, but wrong. Even if Alex still wore makeup regularly, the look is really not, well, _Alex._ A strange hybrid genetic clone of Alex and Isobel living in the Hunger Games Capitol, maybe, but not Alex alone. Michael can’t understand why he’s gotten himself all dolled up in the first place. He’s here for a business deal, not a date.

His eyes are glued to Alex as he walks to the table, leaning more on his crutch than Michael’s seen in some time and holding a fancy shopping bag in his left hand. He puts it down at his feet when he sits at the table with the guy Michael had guessed is Trevor. They talk and Michael wishes he could read minds like Isobel and find out what they’re saying. Trevor sips his drink, then takes something out of the pocket of his expensive looking blue jacket. It looks like a jewelry box and for an instant it almost looks like he’s proposing.

Michael nearly shatters Trevor’s chair when he snaps the box closed, almost catching Alex’s fingers, and deserves a medal for his restraint. Alex flattens his hand on the table while Trevor takes the box back. They talk more. Despite his award-winning composure Alex starts to look uncomfortable and Trevor seems to be perfectly happy being the cause of it. Yeah, Michael definitely deserves a medal.

After a few minutes Trevor takes hold of Alex’s hand and pushes his sleeve up. Alex is wearing a gold bracelet Michael’s never seen before, but something about it seems familiar to him. Had he worn it at some point in the past, and Michael just forgot? He can’t be sure. What he can be sure of is that Alex is even tenser now that Trevor is actually touching him, and Michael doesn’t exhale until Alex pulls his hand back.

The relief is short-lived, though, as Trevor then stands and offers Alex his hand. Michael feels oddly cold as Alex takes the offered hand and a moment later looks like he might scream when Trevor strokes a single finger down his face. The glass in Michael’s hand starts to crack and he finally turns around to get a proper look at them. Trevor has taken Alex’s crutch and is holding out his arm. Alex looks sick as he takes it and allows himself to be taken to the elevators. Michael rushes toward them, no longer caring about his promise to Isobel or the fact that Alex specifically told him not to come. He’s too late, though; the elevator doors close and Michael’s heart falls. A sense of dread washes over him, like the quick glimpse through closing doors is the last he’ll ever see of Alex Manes.

***

It’s after dark when Alex finally gets back to his own hotel room. He’s tired and sore and there are scratches on his back and a bite mark on his shoulder and he’ll definitely have bruises on his hips and arms by morning. He wants to shower for days and sleep for a week. He made the right choice in bringing his crutch, too; he’d be falling over without it by now.

But he did what he had to do. He’s got the fragment of the console he was promised. He got the fragment and on top of that he told Trevor, on no uncertain terms, that he never wants to see him again. He made his feelings abundantly clear and although Trevor has never actually _cared_ about Alex’s feelings, it felt good to get them out. This time he got the last word in himself instead of having to rely on Flint shielding him. Left behind the stupid bracelet. He may feel dirty and used but he can walk with his head held high. Despite everything he feels victorious for once.

At least until he steps into his room and finds Michael sitting on his bed.

“Have fun today?” Michael asks coldly. There’s more judgment in his beautiful hazel eyes than Alex has ever seen from him.

“Guerin,” He sighs, “what’re you doing here?”

Michael stands up. He’s a mess, wearing clothes that look like they’ve been on the floor of his truck for weeks. His shirt’s on backwards, like he threw it on in a hurry. And his face is shadowed by his hat in a way that’s almost menacing.

“I followed you,” He says matter-of-factly. “Wanted to make sure nothing bad happened.”

“I told you it was fine, Guerin,” Alex replies. “You could’ve—”

“Ruined the whole deal?”

Alex nods, “Yes, actually.”

“I’m sure another blowjob or two and Trevor would’ve forgiven it,” Michael spits.

Alex flinches, feeling painfully small, “What’re you—”

“All that talk, all that ‘I can handle it’ bullshit. I actually thought you might’ve been in danger,” Michael practically snarls. “I was _worried_ about you. But all this time you just didn’t want us to know you were _fucking_ him.”

“Guerin, it’s not what you think,” Alex swears.

Michael doesn’t let him continue, “Your lip gloss is smudged.”

Tears forming in his eyes, Alex wipes at his lips with the back of his hand. He’d never wanted anyone to know about his relationship with Trevor. About how weak and helpless Alex had been throughout it. He’d come back to Roswell with everyone thinking he’d become strong and brave and he was determined to be both. Delving that particular tale would drain every ounce of strength and courage he’d managed to gather over the years. And Michael, Michael is the last person he ever wanted to see him like this. 

“I can explain,” He whispers, pleadingly. He doesn’t want to, but now that it’s out he _has_ to. He has to make Michael understand that he’d tried to keep away from Trevor. He’d tried to be better than that. Were it not for the fragment, he’d never have seen him again.

“Explain _what?”_ Michael demands. “That you fuck people to get what you want? Is that how you got promoted, too? Just spread your legs for every officer who asked until you had a good enough rank?”

Alex shakes his head, “That’s not—”

“Is that what I was, too? Just someone you could screw around with to piss off _daddy?”_

Alex doesn’t mean to get mad but that comment is too much. The very notion that he’d ever _used_ Michael, that Michael is anything less than the center of his world, is more than he can take. He tugs the box out of his pocket and shoves it hard into Michael’s chest, not caring that the force almost knocks Michael over, “Maybe I am a fucking whore. But _I’m_ not the one fucking _your_ best friend.”

It’s a low blow, but Alex absolutely will not tolerate _anyone_ questioning his love for Michael. He storms passed Michael and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He both locks and presses his back against it so that if Michael really wants in he’ll have to use his powers. And if he does force the door open, maybe he’ll accidentally crush Alex in the process and then they won’t have to have this conversation.

But Michael doesn’t try to open the door. Doesn’t knock. Doesn’t have anything else to say, apparently. After a short while, Alex can hear him walk right out of the room. It’s only once he hears the door shut that he lets himself sink to the floor and cry.

***

It’s not until Michael gets into his truck that he realizes what he’s just done. What he’s said. The vile accusation he’s just made. Alex hasn’t done anything wrong. Who he sleeps with is none of Michael’s business anymore. Hasn’t been since the moment he went to Maria. Even if it _was_ his business, Alex was coerced. Blackmailed. He was …

Michael can’t get the pained look on Alex’s face out of his mind. The tears in his eyes. The way his hand shook when he’d wiped away the lip gloss. The shame that dripped from him. Shame he didn’t deserve. He didn’t do anything wrong. Michael has to tell him. He has to apologize for the awful things he said. Has to tell him he didn’t mean a word of it, he doesn’t even know why he said it. He has to beg for his forgiveness. And he will.

But first, he has to pay a little visit to Trevor Teave.

In a calmer state of mind, Michael might question how he knows exactly what room to go to. But he’s not in a calmer state of mind and he doesn’t question it. Just pounds on the door with his fists until it finally opens and he finally gets a good look at Trevor. He definitely recognizes him from some of the photographs, though something about him feels more familiar than that. He’s older than Michael, maybe by a decade. But handsome, there’s no denying that. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants, his muscular chest on full display, and his hair is damp like he’s just gotten out of the shower. Michael can’t wait to break his perfect jaw with his fucking brain.

“Read the sign, asshole,” Trevor begins.

Michael shoves him backward and to the floor with his mind before stepping into the room, mentally slamming the door behind him for added effect. “You must be Trevor,” He says, “I’m Michael. We need to talk.”

Unfazed, Trevor props himself up on his elbows and replies, “Oh yeah? What about?”

“Alex.”

“Oh?” Trever asks. His expression moves from curious to amused, “ _Oh._ So _you’re_ the _guy.”_

Michael is thrown by that, “What guy?”

“Alex’s guy,” Trevor clarifies. He takes a gold Zippo from his pocket and lights a gold filtered black cigarette that Michael didn’t even see him get, completely uncaring that there’s definitely no smoking in this room, “The one from when he was a kid. Am I wrong?”

“No,” Michael admits.

“Well, _Michael,_ ” Trevor says his name with venom on his tongue, like it personally offends him, “what _about_ Alex?”

“You’re going to stay the _fuck_ away from him,” Michael commands.

“Sorry, pal,” Trevor responds, cigarette between his lips, “no can do.”

“I don’t think you’re getting me, _Trevor,_ ” Michael tries to put as much malice on his name as Trevor had done to his, but he’s not sure it really has the same affect. There’s a bottle of expensive looking alcohol on a desk further into the room, so Michael demonstrates his point by shattering it. As the pieces fly across the room, he repeats, “You are going to stay _away_ from Alex.”

Just as Alex had predicted, Trevor laughs, “My, my, how _scary._ You really showed the _scotch._ ”

“It’ll be every bone in your body next if you don’t leave Alex alone,” Michael warns.

Trevor sits up properly now but doesn’t get to his feet, “That’s cute. Not very creative, but cute.”

“You think I won’t do it?” Michael asks.

“I _know_ you won’t do it,” Trevor replies, flicking the ashes from his cigarette onto the carpet. “If you didn’t have it in you to crush Jesse Manes when you had the chance, you sure as hell don’t have it in you crush _me._ ”

Michael freezes, “How do you—”

“How do you think? Alex told me. The toolshed, the guitar, the hammer.”

“Bullshit,” Michael spits. There’s no way Alex would have told this guy that much about them. But then, how does he know? Unless he coerced it from him somehow.

Trevor snickers and breathes out more smoke, “You’ve got a lot to learn, kiddo. I don’t lie. Not when the truth hurts so much more.”

“Alex would _never_ tell _you_ about that.”

“Sure he would. He cried in my arms all night about it. Of course, he was very, _very_ drunk at the time. I don’t think he even remembers telling me.”

Michael scoffs, “So blackmail isn’t your only move, huh? You get him drunk to rape him, too?”

“I’ve never raped him,” Trevor says calmly. The disturbing kind of calm that only someone with absolutely no morals can possess. He flicks more ashes onto the carpet and Michael feels sorry for the cleaning staff.

“Spoken like a rapist,” Michael comments. “Maybe I should just sever your dick and be done with it.”

Trevor continues smoking, unconcerned, “Now you’re starting to get more creative. But it’s a little late to be protective of him now, isn’t it?”

He’s never met anyone so infuriating. Michael’s starting to understand why Alex was so determined to keep them all away from him. But now he’s here and it’s far too late to turn back, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you know,” Trevor shrugs, “the damage is done, isn’t it? He’s all kinds of fucked up now. Dearest daddy saw to that while you were busy licking your wounds.”

“You don’t know _anything_ about Alex. Or me,” Michael spits.

“I know enough about you, _Michael._ I know you’re a coward. You talk tough but you let Alex suffer for your weakness. Act like you’ll protect him but just let him get hurt keeping you safe. You always have,” Trevor says. He takes another drag of his cigarette and goes on, “And Alex? I know Alex all the way through. I had him in my arms for five years. I know him better than you ever will. Hell, I know what daddy did to him when you were too weak to save him. Do you?”

For someone who’s powerless compared to Michael, Trevor certainly has a way of getting the upper hand over him. Because the truth is, he _doesn’t_ know what Alex’s father did to him that night. He doesn’t know what he did to him in the days after. All he knows is that he spent days certain Alex was dead and buried out in the desert. And then he finally came back to school, broken. Lifeless. Michael had resigned himself to the fact that Alex really was dead, just on the inside. It wasn’t until the night of the reunion he realized how wrong he’d been.

Trevor laughs and it makes Michael’s insides crawl, “You don’t. I bet you never even _asked._ I did. I gotta say, for all his lovestruck waxing poetic about you, I just don’t see it.”

“See what?”

“Don’t get me wrong, you’re … _okay,_ ” Trevor says, gesturing to him. “But hardly worth Alex’s time.”

That much Michael agrees with, not that he’ll admit it, “You’re not so special yourself, there, buddy.”

That has Trevor laughing again, “You wound me. I guess what I’m saying, though, is I don’t get how it took me over a _year_ of holding him and listening to him whine and cry and cry,” he puts his cigarette out against the wall, “when you got him to spread those pretty legs in a _day._ ”

As everything glass in the room explodes, Michael flings Trevor across it, “Let’s cut the shit and get one thing clear. You don’t touch Alex. You don’t talk to Alex. You don’t look at Alex. You don’t _think about_ Alex. If you _ever_ come near him again I will kill you.”

He marches out of the room, but not fast enough to miss Trevor’s call of, “Bye, _Michael!”_

Michael feels sorry for the poor, innocent hotel staff that will have to clean up the mess. But not sorry enough to stop him from destroying the rest of the room before slamming the door behind him.


	8. a very unusual human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex struggles to adapt to his new life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heard about what happened on Monday's episode, my deepest sympathies to those of you still watching the show because _yikes_. I've also heard that a lot of people are so upset by it that they're giving up on RNM altogether and some even deleting their fics. I support that decision, if the series is really that damaging to their mental state, they shouldn't invest anymore time to it or the fandom. As for me, this ain't my first rodeo. I've been through this with numerous shows, movies, video games, mangas, you name it. I'm well practiced in tossing canon out the window and saying "fuck you, these characters are _mine_ now." 
> 
> As far as I'm concerned, Barney and Robin stayed married, Nebula and Gamora (who is _alive_ ) ripped off Thanos's arms together, Kairi killed Xehanort, Sakura got an equal role to Naruto and Sasuke, and this fic _is_ season 2. I don't watch the show anymore, I don't care what happens on it, I do what I want. That's the beauty of fanfic! We get to give the characters we love what they deserve, whether their creators do or not. So if this show is that upsetting to you at this point, do yourself a favor and step away from it, even just for a few weeks until you feel better. Never stick with something that doesn't make you happy anymore, friends. (and if this fic doesn't make you happy anymore, I'll be sorry to see you go but I understand your need to put you first)
> 
> Anyway, let's move on and see some more of Alex's life on Antar! Chapter specific warnings: torture, more alien culture, ableism, mild violence, victim blaming, my poor attempt at political analysis. It's also the longest one thus far, I believe. Enjoy!

The garden is spectacular. Like something out of a fairy tale. It’s secluded, surrounded by high stone walls, yet still large enough that it could be mistaken for a public park rather than a person’s private garden. The only way in is through a round opening built into the back wall, which leads back toward the main courtyard. The flowers come in every color imaginable. Some have different colors on each petal. Others have more than one color sharing a single petal or unusual designs dancing across them. Many of them look similar to flowers on Earth, but others have unique shapes. They stretch out endlessly, some blossoming on bushes and shrubbery, others right from the ground. In the center of it all is a large tree that looks like a Cherry Blossom, but with blue flowers instead of pink or white. 

There are other gardens around the castle, all of them grand and gorgeous, but so far this one—which he’s dubbed the rainbow garden—is Alex’s favorite. He’s spent hours sitting under the blue tree, just looking out at the infinite pool of color around him. Telling the redheaded servant—who of course is always watching him, just a few feet away—random stories about life on Earth. Not that she understands him or would care about anything he has to say if she did. But talking fills the empty spaces in his days, between when he’s permitted to explore the place and when he’s locked back in his room. Some days he’s subjected to yet another grueling lesson in _proper court behavior_ —lessons that make basic training seem easy by comparison—but even those only take so long and he’s again left with nothing but time.

Today, however, there is no enjoyment to be had even sitting beneath the blue tree. The garden’s beauty means nothing to him right now. Not with the wretched device he’s been locked into still on him. The harness over his face has several straps that lock into place behind his head, with one under his chin forcing him to bite down on the bit between his teeth. The bit has an extension that holds his tongue down, rendering any attempt at intelligible speech useless. Punishment for having the nerve to speak in front of others.

He hadn’t meant to. It wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t _asked_ to be taken to some banquet and shown off to the Court. It’s not Alex’s fault some creep there thought it would be okay to touch his leg without asking him. What was he supposed to do, besides shove the guy away and curse at him? Nothing, it seems. He was supposed to do nothing about it. Just stand there and take it. Because it’s not his _place_ to guard his own damn body anymore. His _place,_ apparently, is to just stand quietly and let the _superior beings_ do what they want. To wait and let the very man responsible for his situation to decide when someone has gone too far. Because how Alex feels isn’t important. His body doesn’t belong to him anymore.

It’s been two weeks since that night. Since Alex had the audacity to _defend_ himself. Every moment of those two weeks has been hell. Psychic hands had gripped him immediately after his outburst, immobilizing him from head to toe. He’d been forced to endure the humiliation of having the man touch his leg anyway, examining it like it wasn’t attached to a living person. Then he’d been dragged back to the castle and forced into the harness.

It’s agony to wear. It squeezes his head, digging painfully into his skin. His jaw is sore, his teeth hurt. His tongue is swollen from being pressed down on so hard without rest. The harness is removed twice a day so he can eat and if he tries to speak—even to apologize—it’s put right back on and he’s denied his meal. Other than that he’s expected to go about his day with it on, even to sleep in it at night. He’s not allowed to just stay in his room all day where the servants—other than the redhead—won’t see him like this. He won’t learn his lesson that way, he’s told. 

So he sits under the tree, unable to waste away the time with mindless chatter as he’s been doing over the last six months. The redhead, he’s sure, is thrilled. She’s nearby, as always, delighting in his misery. Relieved that he’s finally been silenced and probably hoping that the harness will be a permanent fixture.

He feels the footsteps approach him more than he hears them. He doesn’t move, even when there’s a figure standing directly over him and a hand runs through his hair.

“Someone looks unhappy,” the smooth voice mocks.

Alex doesn’t look at him.

“You brought it on yourself,” the hand keeps stroking his hair like he’s a dog chained up in the yard for getting into the garbage. “I told you the rules. All you had to do was stand there and look pretty. And you were doing so _well_ until you had to open that big mouth.”

Alex clenches his fists, wishing he even had the ability to argue.

“You’re not allowed to speak, Alex. I’m being very gracious in allowing you to at home, but outside these walls you are not to say a word. You should understand that by now.”

Alex bites harder on the gag, trying not to react. _Gracious._

“In fact, I don’t think you understand how much worse things could be. These harnesses _used_ to be a common training tool for lower status spouses. To remind them of their place and show the rest of the Court how strongly you rule over your household. Until those weaklings took the throne with their ideas of breaking down the hierarchy and _equality._ Now these kinds of tools have fallen mostly out of use in favor of _softer_ methods of discipline. Only those of us who truly honor our past still use them.”

Alex tries to focus on keeping his breathing steady. 

“I could leave you like this, you know. For the rest of your life, I could leave you like this.”

Alex closes his eyes, doesn’t move.

“No one would question it, not even those who support the newer methods. They’d think I was being lenient, all things considered. They already think I’m crazy, bringing an inferior being here to be my consort. They don’t think you can be trained properly. Let’s prove them wrong, shall we?”

It’s the harness and not Alex that’s yanked upward by the invisible force; Alex is just pulled up along with it. He chokes back his pain and barely manages to move his feet fast enough to avoid being dragged by the harness as the other man starts to walk back to the fortress he calls a home. 

“Hands, bunny,” he’s reminded.

Groaning, Alex moves his hands behind his back as he hurries to keep up. He’s always forgetting the rules about how he’s supposed to hold himself at any given moment. Sometimes he thinks they’re being made up as they go along; there doesn’t seem to be any real meaning behind them.

“Tonight is the Third Moon Celebration,” he’s told as though he ought to know what that means. “It’s a very important night. I’m taking you to the gala with me and this time you _will_ behave yourself.”

He bites back a whine of protest. He’s not ready to be paraded out and gawked at again so soon. Especially with this awful thing on his face. But it doesn’t matter what he thinks. He can’t do anything to stop it.

“Afterward, if I’m satisfied that you’ve learned your lesson, I’ll remove the gag in the morning,” it’s offered as a compromise, as though Alex has any say. “But, if at any point in the night your behavior reflects poorly on me, not only will it stay on but I will tether your hands as well. Understand me?”

This time Alex does whine, but he nods anyway. He has to obey. He’ll only spite himself otherwise. Resisting will only end poorly; for him, and more importantly, for his family.

***

The gala goes on forever. Every second of it is a nightmare. He’s made to wear a full bodysuit of black lace, decorated from top to bottom in crystals, so tight he might as well be nude. It covers both of his hands and his left foot, the right side stopping right where his prosthetic begins; a cruel, calculated move to ensure that people will want a closer look at it, just like the last time. It works, all of it.

People are trying to touch him all night. Admiring his clothing. Admiring the glitter in his hair. Admiring even the matching crystals that have been put onto the harness. His prosthetic, they regard with a morbid curiosity, as though it’s both amusing and disturbing for them to look at. They laugh when they touch it, or pull away in disgust.

Alex wants to lash out at them.

He wants to scream.

He wants to do _anything_ to make it stop.

But he doesn’t. He does exactly as he was told and by morning, jaw aching and stiff, he reaps his reward.

***

Alex does his best to avoid trouble after the harness finally comes off. He’s frustrated and furious, but in no rush to wind up _back_ in the damn thing. He hardly says a word for the first few days. Sticks to please and thank yous and basic pleasantries. He complies with the redhead when she washes and dresses him. He gets out of bed promptly when she rouses him, politely eats the breakfast she always has ready for him. He doesn’t complain or resist when she brings him back to his room for lunch and dinner or when she sends him to bed at night. He doesn’t try to sneak away from her during the day when he’s allowed out to wander the grounds.

Her attitude doesn’t change to match his behavior, though. She’s still rough when she handles him. Still grimaces whenever she has to see or touch his leg. Looks at him like he’s beneath her. If he so much as yawns she sneers at him, ready to start scolding him again at a moment’s notice.

It takes four and half weeks for Alex to get tired of being the only one putting in any effort.

He starts slowly; pointing out to her that she’s being very rude when he’s trying to meet her halfway, not caring that she can’t understand him. A few days later he goes back to sleeping in occasionally—a lifetime of being made to wake at dawn is hard to break—and ignoring her incessant demands for him to get out of bed. Eventually he’s back to talking just to annoy her.

“Did I ever tell you how I learned to swim?” He asks one particularly warm day almost two months after he’s freed from the harness, walking through his second favorite garden.

Though, garden might not be the right term for it. It’s an enormous pond with stone paths winding across it. Black, white and pink flowers emerge from the water in various places and there are patches of lily pads around them. Fish that look like koi swim idly through the clear water and in the center of it all is a giant rock formation with water pouring down it. Tiny rainbow flowers line the stone paths and in several places the paths join together to create small islands with elegant stone benches to rest on.

The redhead glares and huffs in annoyance.

“I was at this lake with my family for a weekend. God, I must’ve been like five at the time. My dad had already taught all my brothers to swim and I was hoping he’d teach me, too. This was before I realized what a monster he is,” Alex explains. “He wasn’t interested in teaching me, but my brother Flint said he’d give it a shot. Except he was ...probably eight, at the time, so he didn’t really know what he was doing. After like, an hour or two, he wound up dropping me. Literally, he was holding me one second and the next he dropped me.” 

He pauses, laughing to himself at the memory. Flint hadn’t done it on purpose, he just hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to keep holding him up for so long.

“But I managed to kick back to the surface and he, well he was freaking out thinking he’d drowned me, but he calmed down and started pretending he’d been planning that all along. As a kid I believed him. Didn’t think anything of it when he made me promise not to tell our parents.”

He glances over his shoulder at the redhead, unsurprised that she’s giving him a stern look.

He goes on, “He taught me to drive, too. He was a senior and about to leave for the army after he graduated, and I knew my dad wouldn’t do it, so I bugged him about it like every day. I remember being like fifteen and _begging_ him to take me out to practice all the time. He’d always get annoyed and tell me to ask dad. He’d say ‘you can use the bonding’ and ‘this is how you can get him to like you better’ and stuff. But he always gave in and took me anyway.”

The redhead is muttering something to herself in annoyance. Part of Alex wants to shove her into the pond and part of him wants to jump in himself. He doesn’t know how deep it actually is or if the fish are dangerous, but even if the pond itself is perfectly safe he’ll definitely get into huge trouble if he does either. It’s not his fault the redhead and all the other servants hate him. He doesn’t make her wait on him. He didn’t ask to be here. He’s trying to be reasonable, trying to follow the rules. 

But he can’t sit in total silence for the rest of his life. He can’t do it. He has to say _something_ or he’ll break completely. In fact, he’s become infinitely more talkative since coming to Antar. It’s not like he _wants_ to share all the details of his life with someone who regards him as an insect. He just wants to speak his memories into the world while they still bring him some semblance of comfort.

“Flint’s a good guy. He fucked up a lot. Like, _a lot,_ but he was really trying to fix things when I last spoke to him. God I fucking miss him.”

He quickens his pace, unwilling to let her see him in tears. He’s had no choice about letting her see him in pain. Letting her see him degraded and humiliated. Dehumanized, objectified. He absolutely will not let her see him cry. He barely manages to leave her behind as he hurries out of the garden.

He just needs a minute alone to get himself under control. Every day it grows harder to keep his emotions in check. He’s running out of space in his head to compartmentalize everything. There’s too much for him to process it all. He’d give anything to have his medications back, to have _something_ to help him keep his brain in working order. But there aren’t any medications on Antar. Antarans don’t take pills. So Alex is on his own. 

It’s easy to get lost in his new home. The grounds are so big they could hold an entire town. Instead there are multiple gardens, apparently intended mostly for hosting lavish parties. Aside from the rainbow garden and water garden, there’s also the one he’s decided to call the crystal grove; a miniature forest whose trees have long strings of gems growing down from the branches. Their sap, he’s learned, is hardened and molded into the material used for their ships. There’s a hedge maze that puts the one from The Shining to shame. A hot spring that looks like a giant version of an ancient Roman bath house. The main courtyard in front of the castle entryway is filled with statues and topiaries, with an ornate fountain in the middle. Each garden is separated by a series of stone walls—with guarded openings to allow passage between gardens—which connect to make a perimeter wall around them. 

It’s not just the gardens, either. The space between the inner wall and the outer perimeter wall is filled with little houses he assumes are for the servants, though Alex hasn’t been able to see the area up close. He’s not allowed outside of the inner wall. And somehow, the inside of the castle seems even bigger. He can’t keep track of all the rooms, can’t remember which ones he is and isn’t permitted to enter. He’s not sure he ever will.

He’s not sure how, but in his attempt to get as far away from the redhead as he can, he winds up outside the inner wall, near the back gate. The back gate is for goods to be brought in and out of the castle, or for servants to come and go when necessary. Outside the gate is a train platform. Despite Antar’s incredible advancements in science, there are no cars or planes or helicopters. The people use trains to get around, or else they walk. 

The rail system is elaborate, stretching across the entirety of the capital city, or so he’s told. In the Upper Ring where the High Court resides, each of their elaborate castles has two stations. One outside the front gate for the household to use, and one in the back for service purposes.

Alex knows he’s not supposed to be near either gate. He’s guaranteed to get reprimanded, at least, for being here right now. He doesn’t care. The area is empty and he needs to be by himself, just for a few minutes. He hasn’t had anything close to privacy since he arrived and he’ll accept his punishment to have just a moment of it.

Of course, he’s never lucky enough to get even a moment’s reprieve. The guards—or police, military, he doesn’t really care what their proper title is—are easily recognized and are worse than even the redhead. They never bother with yelling at him or trying to make him follow commands he can’t understand. Instead they go straight to force, dragging him back to his room when they find him out of bounds, either by hand or telekinetically. Their uniforms look like a fencer’s, right down to the mask, although instead of mesh the mask is covered in clear glass.

“For God’s sake,” Alex groans, “can’t I have a fucking _minute?”_

The guards rotate between High Court households, and this particular man has somehow been there for all of Alex’s worst moments thus far. He’s dragged him back to his room more than once, always particularly rough with him. He’d been present at the banquet when Alex had stepped out of line by defending himself. He’d been there to witness his first few days in the harness, watched him be treated as some interactive art display at the Third Moon Celebration. And now, of course he has to be the one to find him when he just needs one damn minute to himself.

Blue eyes narrow and a mouth surrounded by orange stubble smirks darkly before Alex is shoved backwards to the ground. Unusual. He’s normally yanked forward _to_ the guard, not pushed away from him. There’s something particularly sinister about the way the guard is sauntering toward him. Alex rushes to his feet and tries to hold his ground but there’s nothing he can do to withstand the force that throws him back again. When his back hits the gate, it’s pushed open—even though it _should_ be locked—and he falls onto the hard platform just a few feet away from the train.

“What the _fuck_ are you _doing?”_ Alex demands, getting to his feet again.

He’s either gotten rusty or careless since coming to this planet, because he doesn’t notice the two men step off the train until they’re right behind him. Both, probably, because he’s too busy being shocked and confused to really fight back when they drag him into the train with them. By the time he fully realizes what’s happening, the train is already moving. 

They shove him to the floor of the train and pay him no further attention, instead talking to one another as they sit across from each other on the bench seats. One of the men is fair skinned with shaggy blonde hair, green eyes and bulging muscles that practically scream overcompensation. The other has dark brown skin and brown eyes, his hair shaved away. He’s lean but there’s still a hint of muscle, enough to suggest he’s fit enough to handle himself. Both men have tattoos on their left wrists; the same symbol as Max’s, but theirs have a solid triangular border around them. Alex almost asks them what the hell they think they’re doing before he remembers they can’t understand him.

It’s not difficult to figure out what they’re doing, anyway. They’re not wearing uniforms for guards or for servants. Their clothes, while not exactly soiled or tattered, are more worn and less showy than those he’s seen among the gentry. They don’t belong in the Upper Ring, or at least they’re trying to look like they don’t. And clearly Alex’s least favorite guard was working with them. This is an inside job, maybe even a political kidnapping. Just when he thought things couldn’t get worse. He’ll never learn, will he?

The Upper Ring is named for its literal location, built high above the rest of the city. The train is descending right out of it and into the Middle Ring, where the ultra rich and non-royal nobles live. They don’t stop in the Middle Ring either, instead continuing on to the Lower Ring. Slums where the poor live, packed together and scraping by. Alex was disappointed but not entirely surprised to find that extreme class divisions exist even in space.

His kidnappers aren’t watching him. They’re not paying attention to him at all, in fact, too engrossed in their conversation. They haven’t taken any precautions to keep him from escaping, either. Haven’t taken away his prosthetic or even bound his hands. They’re probably completely sure of their ability to keep him under control. Might not even think he’ll try to run. They think of him the way everyone else on this planet thinks of him; weak, ignorant, helpless. For once he’s not annoyed about it; they underestimate him, and that gives Alex the advantage. 

He can use that, just once. Take them by surprise. But he has to be careful to move at exactly the right time or he’ll waste his chance. He won’t get another once they realize he’s not as helpless as they think. He has no way to know what kind of powers they might have and he needs to be able to get far away before they unleash them.

The train is elevated but it runs close to the rooftops of numerous small buildings. Looking through the window, he can see that many of the buildings have ladders from the roof right to the street below. And the train is moving just slow enough that jumping from it is possible. Risky, but doable. He watches the two men carefully as he waits for his opportunity. 

By the time it comes he’s starting to feel the rush of adrenaline trying to make him into himself again. The train is steadily picking up speed and there’s a roof coming up just close enough for him to reach. Still sitting, he inches to the door, praying it will open for him, then hurries to his feet. He nearly bursts out laughing when the door slides open easily. They really do think he’ll be that easy to control.

His actions don’t go unnoticed, of course, and both men shout at him. The muscular one rushes over and grabs his arm, intending to force him back down to the floor. He’s not expecting Alex’s elbow crushing his nose, though, and topples over almost humorously. The second man is stunned by the display long enough for Alex to jump.

It hurts, the landing, but no more than he expected it to. Catching his breath he watches as the train keeps going with his would-be kidnappers still inside. He suspects it won’t be long, though, before they climb off and come back for him. He takes a moment to get his bearings; he’s deep in the Lower Ring, but he can still see where he needs to go. The Queen’s Palace—grander than even the High Court’s castles—looms over the entire city from the very center of the Upper Ring. 

“Okay, Alex,” he mutters to himself, “you got this. Just gotta navigate fucking space Ba Sing Se before his _majesty_ thinks I ran away. No problem.”

He’s not entirely sure how he’s going to get there, though, even as he climbs down to the street level. He’s in an alleyway with no one around, but he has no way of asking for help once he finds anyone. He doesn’t even know if they _would_ help him. Not only is he human, but every single thing he’s wearing is probably worth more than his life. The sparkling black shirt—skin tight and sleeveless—and its matching pants are bad enough, but the gold chains that wrap around them to form a vest and skirt make him stick out painfully. The string of black diamonds dangling from his ears, gold hand chains with their colorful gems, and thick gold choker certainly don’t help. To top it all off, the shirt has no back, exposing the gold seal branded between his shoulder blades and identifying him as the property of House Esmarch.

Alex doesn’t know much about Antar’s culture or its way of life. He’s been told about the glory of their Collective Consciousness and how the royal families use it to rule effortlessly over the entire planet. But to Alex, that glory sounds like little more than a dictatorship. If the people forced to live in these slums think he’s a part of that, he can’t imagine they’ll be particularly sympathetic to his plight. In all honesty, he wouldn’t blame them if they decided to murder him and take all the finery from his corpse.

Understanding of why the poverty-stricken antarans might hate him on principle aside, he needs to get back to the castle quickly. He can’t have anyone thinking he broke the deal and tried to run away. That would undoubtedly lead to the deaths of his friends. He can’t let that happen, so he starts toward the Upper Ring. It’s slow going, having no real idea of the city’s layout and trying to avoid its people. He keeps an eye out for the white uniforms of the guards, but he doesn’t know if they’ll take him back to where he’s supposed to be or hand him over to the men who abducted him. And if _they_ catch up to him, it’s definitely over.

“Still not the worst odds I’ve ever had,” he tells himself.

As he rounds a corner he crashes into another person, who falls flat as Alex stumbles backward. Catching his balance, he looks down at the other person. He’s a boy, ten or eleven years old. He’s scrawny, with light brown skin and black hair in a short ponytail. His dark green eyes widen in shock when he looks up at Alex. Shock, and something else. Fear, he thinks. Alex knows that look, has worn it many times himself; the realization that something awful is about to happen and there’s nothing that can be done to stop it.

He holds his hands up gently, hoping to signal he’s not a threat, “It’s okay! I’m not gonna hurt you.”

The boy flinches when Alex speaks and tries to back away. His leg slides over a piece of broken glass on the ground and he cries out in pain.

“Hold still,” it’s pure instinct that has Alex crouch down and gently take hold of the boy’s leg. Whatever danger he may be in, he can’t abandon a hurt and frightened child. “Don’t move. It’s alright, it’s not bad.”

He knows his words make no sense to the boy, but he hopes at least his tone will convey his message. The boy stares at him fearfully, frozen in terror as Alex carefully examines the wound. He was right, it isn’t bad at all. But it _is_ bleeding. He tears away some of the fabric from the leg of his pants. As the fabric rips, the boy winces as though Alex has just torn his own skin and not his clothes.

“Okay, this might hurt a little,” he says, gently pressing the bit of cloth to the wound. The boy winces again and Alex tries his best to soothe him despite the language barrier, “I’m sorry. Just don’t move, you’re gonna be fine.”

It doesn’t take too long for the bleeding to slow, and Alex tears another strip of fabric from his pants to improvise a dressing over the first patch of cloth. It’s not the best, but he can’t do much more. His first aid training is very basic and Antar doesn’t have the same kind of supplies as Earth does. People go to healers, and if they can’t get to one they suffer.

“There,” he keeps his voice soft as he finishes dressing the wound, “that should do for now. You’re okay.”

He stands and holds a hand out for the boy. He takes it cautiously, almost as though he’s afraid touching Alex will yield some catastrophic result, and allows himself to be pulled to his feet. 

Alex brushes the dust off the boy’s back and offers him a smile, “There you go. That wasn’t so bad, right? You’ll be fine now.”

The boy stares at him in confusion and Alex doesn’t blame him. He doesn’t need to be told that virtually anyone else from the Upper Ring wouldn’t show any kindness to some slum child. As though he’s suddenly made up his mind about something, the boy takes hold of Alex’s hand and starts pulling him away from where he needs to go.

“No,” he tries to explain, pointing back toward the palace, “I have to get back to the Upper Ring.”

The boy keeps tugging at his hand. Alex doesn’t have time to decide whether to just follow or not before someone grabs him from behind. The muscular man from the train pins him against the wall, growling something he can’t understand through gritted teeth. Alex can’t break his grip, can’t move at all against the oppressive strength of not just his body but his powers as well.

And then he can. The man is thrown backward and Alex turns to see the boy holding out his hand, glaring at the man.

“Damn, kid,” Alex breathes.

Unfortunately the boy’s powers aren’t strong enough, and the man recovers immediately. Sneering, he throws them both to the ground and stalks menacingly toward them. Alex hurries back up, plants himself firmly between the man and the boy.

“You leave him alone,” he orders, not caring that the man doesn’t understand. Behind him the boy rises as well, but Alex keeps him behind his back. Neither of them is a match for this man; the boy’s powers are still growing and Alex has none. And his muscles are fading rapidly from months of disuse, leaving him far less physically capable than he had been on Earth. He can’t win this fight, but he also can’t let the boy get hurt, “Get out of here, kid. Go on home.”

It takes a second for him to realize that it’s not hyperfocus that has the world fade away around them. He doesn’t know what to do when he realizes that the world has _literally_ faded to empty space, leaving nothing but the man and the boy in his sight. They both notice as well. The man halts with an annoyed look on his face, while the boy clings to Alex’s side, clearly more frightened by whatever’s happening than he is of the man. The bald man appears suddenly, forming out of the empty space.

“What did you do to me?” Alex questions, knowing that he’s the one responsible for this; breaking into his mind to try and control him.

“He’s connected our minds, your highness,” the boy whispers.

Alex nearly jumps out of his skin, “Wait, you _understand_ me?”

“Within the mindscape, all words are understood,” the bald man explains. 

“O-oh,” Alex isn’t sure what to say to that. He tries to get his focus back on the situation, not the fact that he can suddenly converse with people. “So what the hell do you _want?_ ”

“Don’t you talk to us that way, human,” the muscular man growls.

The other man holds out his hand to silence him, “Let me handle this, Orif. I apologize for my companion’s behavior. I assure you, highness, we mean you no harm.”

“Not really the impression you’re giving,” Alex replies.

The man nods, “I’m sorry for that too. I understand this must be very frightening for you.”

Alex shakes his head, “Not the word I’d use.”

Taken aback by that, the man pauses, then says, “A-alright. Well, let’s be civil about this. Come with us quietly and no harm will come to you or the boy.”

Orif sneers, “Oh no, after all this trouble this thing’s caused I’m tearing it—”

“Hush, Orif,” The other man warns. “We’ve wasted enough time already, we have none to spare for your ego. Highness?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Well, yes, naturally. But if you choose to resist we _will_ use force,” the man replies.

“How do I know I can trust you?” Alex asks. He wants to, oddly. Something about this man makes Alex think he can. But he’s not naive enough to just do it. “How do I know you’re not influencing me?”

The man smiles, impressed, “I _could_ do that. But just the fact that you’re asking me that makes me think your mind would be ...difficult to influence.”

“I go with you, and you’ll leave the kid alone?” Alex asks, wondering why he seems to be making this same deal on repeat.

“You have my word, highness.”

Alex looks down at the boy, “Go home, kid.”

The boy shakes his head, unwilling to leave Alex’s side, “No.”

“Go on, young man,” the man says. “There’s no need to involve yourself in this.”

The boy looks between all three men for a moment before running off, vanishing into the empty space.

The bald man holds his hand out to Alex, “Highness, if you will.”

“My _name_ is _Alex,_ ” he growls in return.

The man falters, “I ...I’m sorry, highn-Alex. My name is Veress.”

“Pleasure,” Alex mocks, walking toward him.

“If you try _anything,_ ” Orif growls, “I _will_ tear one of your limbs off.”

Alex smiles at him, “Been there, done that.”

“You _insolent_ little—”

_“Orif,_ ” Veress scolds, exasperated, “ _enough._ Make sure we have a clear path.”

Orif glares at him, but does as he’s told. He gives Alex another disgusted look before he too vanishes into the emptiness. Alex doesn’t bother resisting as Veress takes hold of his wrists and begins tying them behind his back.

“Forgive me,” he says, “but after all that, I’m not taking any chances with you.”

“You know what,” Alex admits, “I wouldn’t either.”

Veress doesn’t answer, just drapes a cloth he’s pulled out of the empty space over Alex’s shoulders, covering his flashy outfit. He keeps one hand on Alex’s shoulder and begins guiding him through the streets. The empty space fades and the real world returns to Alex’s vision, but he’s had enough experience with telepathy from Isobel to know that their minds are still linked. 

“You’re a very unusual human,” Veress comments as they catch up with Orif, who doesn’t appear able to hear them anymore.

“How’s that?”

“You’re clever. Brave. And noble, surprisingly noble. No one from the High Court would ever give themselves up for a commoner.”

Alex rolls his eyes, “I’m not _from_ the High Court. I’m from _Earth._ This may blow your mind, but protecting little kids from harm is just kind of seen as the _right_ thing to do there.”

“Oh,” Veress pauses again. “I ...didn’t know humans were capable of complex morals.”

Alex scoffs, “You are an asshole, you know that?”

“Excuse me?”

“How many humans have you actually _met?_ ” Alex asks.

“You, you are the first,” Veress replies.

“Then don’t you think maybe you shouldn’t judge my entire species when you’ve never even met one of us until now?”

“I’m sorry if I offended you,” Veress offers. “But our scholars—”

“You’re scholars don’t know shit,” Alex mutters. “And are you seriously apologizing for _offending_ me when you’re literally in the middle of _kidnapping_ me?”

“It’s not personal, high, I mean, Alex. It’s the Collective. You can’t understand what it’s like with them in charge. The things they’ve done. Just look at how these people are living compared to you.”

“Do _not_ pretend for one second that you know how I’m living or what I understand,” Alex spits. “You don’t know _anything_ about me.”

Veress doesn’t say anything else, and Alex doesn’t feel the need to either. Having to make nice with _one_ captor is bad enough, he’s not interested in adding another to the list. He just needs to cooperate and he’ll get through this. He has no doubt that whoever Veress works for is planning to ransom him or use him for some political leverage. Which means there will be no concern about anyone thinking he ran away. Whether they kill him or not makes no difference, as long as the blame is on them—he’s just the helpless little human, after all. Which means his family is still safe.

“Are all humans like you?” Veress asks suddenly.

“Are all antarans like _you?_ ”

“No.”

“Well there you go,” Alex grumbles.

“I didn’t—oh what _now?_ ” 

Veress severes the connection as three people approach them, two men and a woman. All of them in their early twenties, he thinks. The men are both olive skinned with brown eyes, their faces identical. The only difference is that one has his black hair cropped short, the other’s reaches his shoulders. The woman has lighter skin and hazel eyes, her light brown hair in a short bob. All of them are dressed in dirty, tattered clothing. None of them look particularly friendly. Orif says something to the group that Alex suspects is something akin to _get lost._ The woman points at Alex when she replies, and Veress immediately pulls him behind him.

Alex isn’t sure what to make of this. These people have no reason to be interested in him, unless somehow they know who he is and think they can get some kind of vengeance on the upper class through him. Or they just happened to glimpse what he’s wearing before it was covered and want to steal it. Whatever the reason, the two men attack Orif without warning; one throws him with his mind while the other moves in to punch him. As Orif struggles with them, the woman steps closer to Veress, who shoves Alex back a step, the cloth falling off of him in the process. He shouts something at the woman that sounds like a warning to stay back. She doesn’t listen.

It’s a bizarre sight, watching a group of aliens battle one another with both body and mind. It makes it difficult to tell who’s winning when he can’t actually _see_ half the struggle. Alex isn’t sure what he should do. He can’t help either side with no powers, weakened muscles, and his hands tied. Even if he could, he doesn’t know if he _should._ It’s not as though any of these people have anything kind in store for him. Though, with Veress at least he knows he’ll still be able to keep his word and protect his family.

His attention is pulled away from the scene when the rope binding his hands falls away suddenly. The boy from earlier tugs at Alex’s arm, urging him to follow. He does, and the boy leads him through winding streets until they enter a tiny house Alex might not have even seen were the boy not guiding him. There’s a dark skinned middle aged woman waiting for them inside, her once black hair hair almost fully gray and a few wrinkles around her light brown eyes. She holds out her arms and the boy lets go of Alex’s hand to run into them.

Holding the boy tight, the woman looks at Alex kindly, “So you’re the human everyone has been talking about.”

Alex is never going to get used to having other people share his mind with him, but that’s no excuse for poor manners, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you for helping my son. I can’t possibly repay you.”

Alex shakes his head, “It’s my fault he was in danger in the first place. You have no reason to thank me.”

“Those men wanted to hurt you, your highness!” The boy interjects, stepping out of his mother’s arms. “That’s not your fault!”

“Tahbos,” The woman says, “Keep watch out the window for your brothers and Ronium. I need to talk to our guest in private.”

“Okay,” Tahbos huffs, walking over the window beside the front door.

He grins at Alex as he passes, and Alex can only offer a weak smile in return. He can feel the boy’s mind disconnect from his own.

The mother moves closer and takes Alex’s hands gently, “Are you hurt at all?”

“No, ma’am. Thank you,” Alex replies. Despite her smile, Alex is wary of this woman. Once upon a time he’d believed wholeheartedly that people were more good than bad, that they didn’t always have an agenda for helping others. He’s not so sure anymore. Especially when he knows that the people of this planet hate him on general principle. He can’t just let his guard down. “I’m sorry I put your son in danger.”

Her smile shifts from motherly to impressed, “I’ve never met a member of the High Court. Or a human. You’re not what I expected, on either count.”

“That uh, a good thing or a bad thing?” Alex asks.

“I’m not sure yet,” she admits. “My name is Quire. You’ve already met my youngest, Tahbos. My older boys, Coles and Everen, and daughter-in-law, Ronium are still out there. Those two men are very dangerous; my children are putting their lives at tremendous risk to help you.”

“I am so sorry,” Alex repeats. He is. He’s only here on this planet because he wanted to _keep_ people out of danger, not drag more of them into it. “I never meant to put your family in danger, I swear it. I never meant to put _anyone_ in danger, I just—”

“And yet you did,” Quire says, her smile turning cold.

“I …” Alex can’t answer. He knows he’s been under antaran _influence_ before, but this is the first time he’s been aware of it happening. Somehow it makes it more terrifying. He knows he could try to resist, but he doubts it will help him. Quire’s power feels stronger than Isobel’s, or maybe it’s just the wrath of an angry mother.

“And now I’ve had to send my own family to risk their lives for the prince’s human whore, do you realize that?”

Alex has to stop himself from flinching at her words. It’s not like he doesn’t already know that most antarans view him that way. But to actually hear it drills ice through his chest. It makes the reality of it somehow more …real. Adds a sense of finality to his situation. He doesn’t have any delusions of returning to Earth or of being rescued. Or of having anything resembling happiness here. Still, Quire’s words are a harsh reminder of just how insignificant he really is.

Despite everything he’s done to better himself, he’s still here. All the years of training. Building bravery, strength. Learning to fight. To think in the heat of battle. In the end, none of it did him any good. In the end, only obedience has allowed him to do anything of real use to anyone.

“Yes, ma’am,” He whispers.

“Life is difficult here, for anyone who isn’t part of the Court. If you’re not struggling down here—working yourself to the bone just to eat—you’re struggling up there as a servant—catering to the spoiled brats in the Court. Servants in the _High_ Court have it even worse. They don’t need _you_ causing them trouble, and neither do we down here.”

“I understand, ma’am.”

Quire scoffs, “So ignorant. You don’t understand any of it. You got what you wanted, didn’t you? You crawled into the bed of one of the most powerful people in the universe and for some reason he’s chosen to let you stay there. Why can’t you be satisfied with that? Bad enough his servants have to take care of you, why do you have to go and make it that much harder for them?”

“That’s not what I wanted.”

“Then what _did_ you want?”

Alex doesn’t want to keep answering her questions, but he’s compelled to anyway, “I just wanted to keep my family safe.”

Quire’s expression shifts from contempt to confusion, “What?”

“My family,” Alex explains, incapable of stopping. “He was going to kill them. I had to come with him. I didn’t want to, but it was the only way to protect them.”

“Humans …” Quire questions, “...have families?”

“Yes,” Alex smiles absently as he pictures his. His sense of logic is lost and his emotions are all heightened under Quire’s influence. “I love my family. I’ll do anything to protect them, ma’am.”

“What do you mean, anything?”

“Anything,” Alex repeats. “Live on a planet that hates me. Marry a man who treats me like a pet. Whatever it takes to keep them safe.”

Quire doesn’t answer. She steps away from him with an expression that suggests she’s been hit. Alex wants to say something else but he can’t speak or move. It’s an odd feeling. There’s nothing physically stopping him, but he can’t make himself do either. He’s trapped and useless under her power. All he can do is watch Quire speak to her other three children. He didn’t see them come in, but they all look worn out. They must have emerged victorious in their scuffle with Veress and Orif. He hopes the two—and their allies—won’t try to get back at them for it in the future. 

“Let me see this family of yours,” Quire orders, probing deeper into Alex’s mind.

This time Alex does resist, “No.”

“Let me see,” Quire repeats.

“ _No._ No one can see them,” Alex warns. They’ll be in danger if anyone finds out about Michael, Max, and Isobel. “I won’t let you.”

“I’m not going to hurt them,” Quire promises, pushing so hard now that it hurts to resist her.

“ _I said no.”_

Quire flinches, “You’re not going to let me in unless I tear your mind in half, are you?”

“I’m never going to let _anyone_ near them,” Alex vows.

Quire stops pushing his mind, “It seems I’ve misjudged you, your highness.”

Alex shakes his head, feeling as though he’s suddenly been snapped out of a daydream. He remembers their conversation but somehow he still feels off, like he wasn’t _really_ present for it, “Ma’am?”

“When Tahbos told me about how you tended to his leg and tried to protect him, I thought he must have misunderstood. I didn’t think you could have had good intentions. But you did, didn’t you? You helped him, honestly.”

He doesn’t feel her compelling him to answer anymore, but Alex does anyway, “I tried to.”

“Why?”

“He’s a kid,” Alex replies. “And even if he wasn’t, he had nothing to do with the situation. There was no reason for him to get hurt over me. I don’t want _anyone_ to get hurt because of me.”

Quire laughs humorlessly, “I’m starting to think I’ve been lied to.”

“What do you mean?”

“My whole life I was taught non-Antarans are all savages. Or liars and thieves and ...heathens. Maybe there’s more to you creatures than we’ve been led to believe.”

“I’ll _try_ to take that as a compliment,” Alex remarks. 

He doesn’t really have it in him to be mad at her right now. He’s come to terms with Antar’s ethnocentrism and collective narcissism. It’s just too exhausting to be angry every time an Antaran insults him, and at least Quire is acting out of ignorance. She’s not like the people in the Court, basking in luxury and able to visit other planets at her leisure. All she knows is what she’s been taught by those in power, and given how much stricter the Antaran social class system is than any he’s seen on Earth, it’s not as though she has any real opportunity to learn.

“My apologies, your highness.”

“On Earth we call that propaganda. Spreading lies about other groups of people like that.”

“You think the High Court is _lying?”_ Quire asks, defensive.

It’s a song and dance Alex has seen many times before. The _I can insult my country—_ or in Quire’s case, planet— _but you can’t_ mentality. The weird defensiveness of knowing your own rulers are wronging you but being unwilling to allow anyone _else_ to criticise them. Sure, Quire and her family are on the brink of starvation and she knows the Court is full of spoiled brats who relish in their extravagant excess, but it’s their way of life. It’s the natural order of things, in her mind. An order that says the lowest Antarans are still considered above all other beings, and if any part of it changes, that will too. And that means Antar has wronged other planets. Many, many other planets. Admitting that one’s own people might actually be the villains of a story is no easy task.

“People on Earth don’t all live under one ruler like you do,” He says. “Our planet is divided into countries, and the rulers of those countries—or a lot of them, anyway—spend a lot of time convincing their people that _other_ countries and their people are somehow inferior and to blame for their problems.”

He watches her face for a moment, waiting for her to realize the comparison he’s making. He hasn’t tried to explain this sort of thing—the never ending war machine—since he was in high school, but for some reason he feels the need to try. It doesn’t take long before Quire nods, encouraging him to continue.

“They use that to justify a lot of awful things,” He continues, “like taking over those countries. All the while the rich get richer, the poor keep struggling, and somehow there’s always someone else to blame besides the people on top. Sound familiar?”

Quire doesn’t respond right away. She looks away from him to her family, who are watching her with concern. Alex doesn’t know if any of them are listening to their conversation, but it’s clear they can tell the effect it’s having on their mother. He’s tampering with Quire’s entire worldview, offering a very different perspective on what’s been the only truth she’s ever known. She doesn’t like what she’s hearing and Alex knows he’s putting himself at risk by saying it. If word gets around that the prince’s human is insulting Antar’s way of life it could cause quite the scandal. A scandal that could easily have repercussions for Alex’s family.

“That sounds like a well rehearsed lie,” She says finally. 

Alex sighs, “If that’s how you—”

“And yet,” Quire cuts him off, “you stopped to help Tahbos, even _knowing_ how we feel about you. No one from the Court would do that. Especially the High Court. Someone from down here, maybe, but not up there. ” 

“It was the right thing to do,” Alex replies.

“Did you know,” Quire asks, “that you can’t lie in the mindscape?”

Alex shakes his head, “No.”

“I still think you’re talking nonsense, but you can’t be lying. Maybe that’s how things are on your planet, but that’s _not_ how it is here,” Quire says. Her voice is a little _too_ confident, like she’s trying to convince herself more than Alex. “Regardless, I think we ought to see about getting you back where you belong now.”

“Can you?”

Quire nods, “My friend Draeweber is a servant in House Addera. I can reach out to her mind and tell her what’s happened. I’m sure she can reach out to one of the servants in House Esmarch and have them pass along the message to the prince.”

“You can’t reach him yourself?” Alex asks. “I thought all antarans were part of a Collective Consciousness?”

“Our minds are all connected in the Collective, yes. But you can’t just contact anyone you want to. Only people of your own status or lower. The Queen, you see, could connect her mind with anyone in the Collective if she wanted to. Me, I can only connect with other people from this sector of the Lower Ring, where we’re under the direct rule of House Esmarch. Or someone I’ve connected with personally, like Draeweber.”

“Telepathic segregation,” Alex mutters.

Quire doesn’t get the chance to answer him before the door is forced open violently. Tahbos runs behind his mother, while the Coles, Everen, and Ronium ready themselves for another fight. It’s not Veress or Orif that steps through the door, though. It’s another guard. He’s too far away for Alex to see his face, but there’s a patch over his heart bearing the symbol from Max’s tattoo. Around him, the entire family falls to their knees and bows.

The guard reaches his hand out and Alex is pulled toward him. Thoroughly tired of all the telekinesis he’s been subjected to today alone, he’s barely able to resist the urge to fight back. The guard gives him a once over as if checking for injuries. Seemingly satisfied, he pulls Alex behind him and turns his attention to Quire and her family.

Alex barely has time to register what’s happening when suddenly the entire family is thrown across the room. The sheet of power pressed over them is so strong they can’t even cry out in pain as they’re all pinned to the floor.

“What’re you _doing?_ ” Alex demands. “Stop it! Let them go!”

When the guard ignores him, Alex shoves him back against the wall and presses his forearm against his neck, pinning him in place.

“I said let them go!”

Despite his obvious shock, the guard recovers easily enough and Alex is thrown to the floor once again. The guard says something that has Quire trying to plead with him. Her words are useless and neither she nor Alex can do anything to stop it as all of them are dragged from the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bodysuit Alex wears to the third moon celebration:  
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> The gold chain vest/skirt:  
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> Alex's earrings:  
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> The hand chains ~~what do you mean that's an infinity gauntlet cosplay piece idk what you're talking about~~ :  
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> 
> Hope everyone is doing well and staying safe until this is all over!


	9. strange and unnecessary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back on Earth, Alex tries to make sense of the goings on around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for posting a little later than normal, I was up until 6am and didn't get out of bed until 3 and no longer have any sense of time :)
> 
> This chapter takes place after Alex has returned to Earth. Warnings for references to torture/mutilation/non-con and Stockholm Syndrome. Comments always deeply appreciated!

Alex wakes with a feeling of confusion. The first thing he notices is that he’s not on the feather-soft mattress he shares with his husband, nor is he wrapped in their silk-fine blankets. The mattress he’s on is firm—though not uncomfortable—and the blankets feel like cotton. He’s not surrounded by a thick black curtain that cuts him off from all light and sound beyond it. He isn’t in his bedroom on Antar, he’s in a hospital on Earth. There are lights from the window and the various machines that he’s hooked up to. Sounds come from the machines and outside the door, where hospital staff are going about their business. He’s clothed in a hospital gown and he’s alone in the bed. 

His location is confusing enough, but he’s even more baffled by his company. Michael is by his side, sleeping awkwardly in the recliner next to his bed. Kyle has pulled some strings to make sure that not only does Alex have a private room, but to allow Michael to stay beyond visiting hours. He’s not Alex’s family—not legally, anyway—but none of the staff ever question his presence. Alex doesn’t understand any of it, but he’s relieved that Michael is still with him.

It’s his third day back on Earth and he assumes it’s going to be full of more tests and exams and attempts by the police to interview him. Just like it’s been from the moment he arrived at the hospital late yesterday afternoon. The first day and a half was spent going over the cover story. It wasn’t difficult to memorize. Alex is pretty sure they used the story he’d come up with to explain Rosa being alive and Max’s seven month disappearance as inspiration. The group had been surprised when they learned he can’t speak, but after waiting for them to stop fussing he’d managed to convey that he still understands clearly. That yes, he’s got the story down; human trafficking, he doesn’t remember much, Michael found him in the desert when he was out taking photographs. Because Michael does that now, apparently.

Creating the physical evidence had been more difficult, for everyone else at least. They’d been expecting him to be in poorer condition, it seems, and he can’t be quite so healthy for the story to really work. He has some markings that fit the story nicely; numerous piercings his husband had decided Alex needed, bruises and scratches and bites left by his husband’s brutal intimacy, the faint, faded scars around his wrists and ankle from his time in the Deep City that even Antar’s best healers couldn’t remove entirely. Not from a human, at least. 

It’s not enough, though, and they’d all been overly apologetic every second as they added to the illusion. Zip-tied his hands together and had him walk barefoot in the desert, his prosthetic off and a splintered slab of wood serving as a makeshift crutch. Michael and Kyle were at his side every step, assuring him he could stop any time he needed to. Kyle and Liz, both nearly in tears, had injected him with several different drugs. The first one made him vomit, twice. The second had him so spaced out he barely knew what was happening when someone shoved him to the ground and dragged him through the dirt. They’d given him the sedative again once it wore off so that he wouldn’t feel the sun burning him while he sat outside beneath it for the next few hours. They had all stayed with him every second, though he’s not sure why; they don’t need to be hyperthermic and dehydrated for the plan to work. He didn’t complain about hunger or thirst; an empty stomach looks better for the story, and even if that weren’t the case he knows better than to complain about his own needs. Yet they’d still apologized constantly that he couldn’t eat or drink anything. They’d even gone the extra mile and refused to eat anything themselves, but again he’s not sure why. When night came they brought him to a cave far, far from the one the pods are in. Between the next round of sedation and Michael holding him through the cold of the desert night, he’d gotten the best sleep he’s had in years.

The following morning had been more of the same. Max, having gained more control over his powers, had partially healed some of the scrapes and bruises they’d given him, making them appear much older than a few hours. After that they’d set to work giving him even more, making his skin into a tapestry of torture that looks like it goes back months. They’d kept him sedated all the while, as though anything they could do to him could ever match what’s already been done.

There are some things about him they can’t alter to fit the story, though. One and a half days in the desert without sustenance may have had him dehydrated and starving, but it didn’t leave him quite as malnourished as one might expect someone who’s been held captive for years to be. They couldn’t bring themselves to actually break any bones or dislocate any joints for Max to heal halfway, something that would give a stronger impression that he’d been held against his will. Despite the many track marks in his arms—some heavily faded and old looking thanks to Max—the drugs Kyle and Liz kept injecting him with won’t show if for any reason a sample of his hair is tested. And his complete lack of facial and body hair, the fact that it simply no longer grows, is hard not to notice.

Still, they’re all things that can be explained away. He may not be emaciated, but his once well-toned muscles have virtually melted away, leaving him scrawny and thin. Improperly healed fractures and dislocations might look better, but they’re not completely necessary for the story to be believable. Between Kyle’s connections and Isobel’s influence, test results can be altered. And laser hair removal—while not as effective and permanent as the lotion that had been used to kill off the follicles and strip him of all body hair—is a good enough explanation for anyone who isn’t suspicious already. And if it’s not, Isobel can simply convince everyone that it is.

The only difficult part had been when Kyle removed the seal from his back. The gold emblem bearing his husband’s insignia. He’d understood the need to remove it; anything and everything alien had to go. His clothing, his jewelry, his prosthetic, his piercings, the emblem. But that didn’t make it easier to endure. It wasn’t the pain that bothered him. He’d been sedated again and Max had used his powers to suppress his pain receptors—because Max can do that now, evidently—and he’d barely felt it being excised from his skin. 

It was an odd reversal of the day it was put there. His first day on Antar, still stubborn and ignorant. He’d been restrained, fighting and struggling against the chains that bound him, unwilling to be branded despite his earlier promises of cooperation and compliance in all things. And in one shameful moment, realizing he was powerless to stop it from happening, he’d begged for mercy. Begged and pleaded and cried and let nonsense like _please don’t do this_ spill from his lips. Right up until the guard was forced between his teeth to keep him from biting his tongue out and the process began. First the carving of the stencil in his skin, then the melted gold being poured into place. He remembers thrashing and screaming and throwing up around the guard, then waking up in his cage some time later, fully healed and the seal shining against his skin.

He’d spent years hating it, before he’d finally learned. It was a part of him, a permanent reminder of what he was, who he belonged to. Even when he’d been taken by his husband’s enemies they hadn’t tried to remove it. Now that it’s gone he feels more exposed than ever. He feels lost. His entire life Alex has always belonged to someone or something. His father. The U.S. government. His husband. Now no one. Michael has been given charge of him, but Alex doesn’t belong to him. Doesn’t belong _with_ him. He never has and he never will. He’s just a stray now.

Once all was said and done and they were sure he looked convincing, it was time to bring him back into the world. Liz injected him one last time, this time with her serum. Explained that it would prevent any handprints from forming after all of Max’s healings and make the one his husband had left on his shoulder a few days ago fade. After that, everyone but Michael had departed, leaving just the two of them at the small cave. Alex had sat in the cave waiting while Michael finished whatever other preparations he needed to ready. He’d tried to keep his heart from bursting when Michael finally came back, wrapped him in a blanket and carried him back to his truck. Michael had told him he could sleep if he needed to, so he hadn’t even tried to stay awake as they drove into town. It hadn’t been too long of a trip; Michael hadn’t bothered to stay under the speed limit for even a moment. Alex was only barely conscious when Michael carried him into the Emergency Department and handed him over the staff, doing an impeccable job of feigning panic.

The rest of the evening had been a whirlwind of scans and screenings and evaluations. There were so many doctors and nurses and techs around that he couldn’t keep track of anything. Luckily, it seemed no one really expected him to. Kyle had been there the whole time, his presence assuring Alex that everything was going according to plan. When the police arrived, Max was there with them, making sure that everything went quickly and smoothly. Before Alex knew it, he was settled in a private room and Michael was by his side. Liz, Maria, and Rosa soon joined them, while Isobel lingered in the doorway with Flint. Alex had tried not to look at his brother, but it was impossible not to notice the hurt on his face.

Alex hates himself for the way he’s been treating Flint in the days since coming back to Earth. They’d finally managed to be on good terms again and now it’s ruined. Flint is clearly trying to respect his need for space; he’d stayed close enough to watch the preparation, given them directions that Alex’s drug addled mind couldn’t understand, but hadn’t gotten any closer after the first panic attack he’d set off. And yet Alex can’t even look at him in return. That’s not fair. What happened to Alex in the Deep City wasn’t Flint’s fault. He wasn’t even there. Flint’s never set foot on Antar and he never will. It’s not his fault they used his likeness when they …

A soft knock at the already open door grabs his attention and Kyle steps into the room. He’s unshaven, eyes bloodshot. He ought to be at home in bed and Alex isn’t sure why he’s here giving him an awkward smile instead, “Morning.”

Alex sits up, the only greeting he can really offer. Michael is still asleep in the recliner, so Kyle grabs the smaller plastic chair at the foot of Alex’s bed and pulls it up to sit on his other side. He does it all quietly, careful not to wake Michael. Alex wonders if that consideration means Kyle and Michael have become friends over the years. It’s a nice thought. 

Kyle rubs the back of his neck and sighs, “I’m, uh, I’m not gonna bother asking how you’re feeling ‘cause that’d be a pretty supid question right now, huh?”

Alex shrugs. He’s not sure if it’s really a _stupid_ question, but it’s not one he can really answer.

“Alex, I …” Kyle glances at Alex’s back. Max had largely healed him after they’d removed the seal, but left enough of a wound that the bandage is peeking out from beneath his hospital gown. He swallows, his voice shaking when he speaks, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about what we did out there. What _I_ did. I know we had to, but that doesn’t make it okay. I’m sorry, Alex.”

Alex shakes his head, hoping to convey that Kyle has nothing to apologize for.

“I know we can’t really make it up to you,” Kyle goes on. “But I swear I’ll do everything I can, Alex. We’ll do better this time. I promise, we will _never_ let anyone hurt you again.”

Again Alex shakes his head, wishing Kyle didn’t try to burden himself all the time. He’s a good person, he shouldn’t have to carry so much guilt over nonexistent sins.

“We took too long,” Kyle mutters, so low Alex barely hears him. 

Fairly certain the comment wasn’t actually meant for him, Alex shifts his gaze to the wall in front of him. He doesn’t want to intrude on Kyle’s private musings, after all.

“So, um, things got a little crazy while you were gone,” Kyle says after a long silence. He sounds like he’s just trying to fill the silence. “We had a plague. An honest to God pandemic. Back in twenty-twenty. It was nuts. Whole country went into lockdown. Whole world, really. People were quarantined, schools closed for months. Only ‘essential businesses’ were allowed to stay open. Everyone had to stay at least six feet apart and stores that did stay open put lines on the floors so people wouldn’t get closer than six feet. White House tried to shut down the fucking _post office._ Everybody was buying toilet paper.”

Kyle snickers slightly at that last part. Alex can’t tell if he’s being serious about the whole thing or not, but he can’t see any reason Kyle would pretend they’d gone through a pandemic. He tries to picture it in his mind, but it sounds more like the prologue of a dystopian novel than real life.

Kyle leans forward, his elbows resting on the rail of Alex’s bed, “It was _scary,_ honestly. Hospital needed everyone on staff almost every second, so I pretty much lived here until it was over. Liz too, she was researching for better testing and a vaccine.”

That much Alex can imagine. There’s no way either Kyle or Liz would rest for even a minute if there was anything they could do to help people in need. They both just care so much, he almost worries they give _too_ much of themselves without stopping to remember their own needs.

Kyle sighs, “Maria had to work like hell to keep the Pony going. Restaurants were allowed to stay open for deliveries, so she just had the kitchen running nonstop. She tried to get as much free food out as she could to people who lost their jobs. Opened a credit line so she could keep paying her staff. Max started hosting this little online creative writing class whenever he was off duty so kids could have something to do. At first it was just local but he wound up getting kids from all over. Isobel started up a bunch of fundraisers to get equipment for people who still had to go to work. Masks and gloves and hand sanitizer and stuff. She also may or may not have brainwashed half the town to stay calm and not freak out.”

Kyle laughs, apparently amused at Isobel’s clever use of her power. Alex can’t deny he’s impressed. The Isobel he remembers hadn’t exactly been the most collected when it came to stressful situations. Quick to panic and forget she could use her powers. Not that he’d ever held that against her; most people _do_ fall apart when they panic. And for most of the time he’d known her, she’d been under Noah’s influence in one way or another. He can’t even imagine how hard it must have been for her to suppress her sense of self so much that she couldn’t ever do more than rely on others to protect her. Alex is glad to hear that Isobel has grown far beyond the helpless damsel Noah had clearly wanted her to be. 

“And he,” Kyle nods toward Michael, “never stopped working. When he wasn’t tinkering in his bunker he was running deliveries for Arturo so that the uh, Crashdown wouldn’t lose too much business. For Maria too. He started picking up groceries for elderly people who were too at-risk to go out. Liz did a few tests and it turns out Antarans can neither catch nor carry COVID, so it was safer for him to be out. Not that people knew that, but you know, he wore a mask and gloves and everything so no one would worry his deliveries were contaminated.”

Kyle pauses a moment while Alex absorbs everything. He almost wishes he’d been here to help too, hearing how hard things apparently were for a while. As important as it was for him to uphold his deal and stay at his husband’s side, he feels guilty knowing everyone was bleeding themselves dry back on Earth.

“That’s about that time he started doing odd jobs around town,” Kyle continues. “Anything anyone needed done, he’d do it either for free or super cheap. He just kept coming up with new ways to make things a little easier on everyone. I think he wanted to make you proud.”

“You’re making too much noise, Valenti,” Michael groans, stretching out his body as he does. Alex almost winces as he looks at him; that chair is definitely not good for his back

“Sorry, Sleeping Beauty,” Kyle teases. “You okay on that thing?”

Michael sits up and rubs his face, “Been through worse.” He stretches again, yawns, then looks at Alex with a smile so bright Alex is almost taken back in time to the morning he’d finally found the courage to stay in Michael’s bed with him, “Hey.”

Alex’s heart flutters in a way he’d forgotten it even could.

***

“Alex, can you hear me?” A tall brunette asks.

He looks up at her and nods. It’s his third day in the hospital and she’s just asked everyone to leave so she could speak with him in private. He’s not sure who she is but he assumes she’s another doctor. The psychologist he was told he’d be meeting, most likely. Coming to analyze him and find out just how fucked in the head he is.

She smiles and offers her hand, “My name is Dr. Hartford. I’d like to ask you a few questions, is that alright?”

Alex shakes her offered hand and nods, hoping she can’t sense his reluctance. He knows she’s supposed to talk to him alone but he can’t help resenting her for sending everyone out of the room. For sending Michael out. He’d feel a lot safer answering her questions if he had someone to guide him. They’d already told him the cover story they’d come up with to explain his disappearance, and more importantly Michael has given him his approval to speak with her, but it still feels wrong to do it alone. He shouldn’t be answering questions and letting someone into his head without supervision.

Dr. Hartford sits beside his bed, “I hear tell you’ve been having some trouble speaking. Is that right?”

He nods again. He doesn’t really know _why_ he can’t speak anymore, he just can’t. Well, maybe can’t isn’t the right word. If he puts in all his effort he can get out a word, maybe two. But it’s exhausting and it takes forever. It leaves him gasping for air and ready to pass out. On Antar that hadn’t mattered. He’d had neither right nor reason to speak. On Earth, though, it’s a problem. He’s trying, he really is, but somehow it’s even harder here than on Antar. Isobel had even tried going directly into his head before they’d brought him to the hospital, but the attempt had only succeeded in making them both very dizzy.

“Would you like to try writing, instead?”

Alex shrugs. They’d tried that too, giving him a pen and pad. But his brain seems to have a series of giant gaps in it, and though he can picture all the letters in his mind he can’t get them onto the paper. Kyle had tried giving him a tablet to type on, but the keyboard on the screen seemed to be mocking him and turning the letters into symbols he can’t read. The only result was that he’d gotten a headache from it all. He’s no codebreaker these days.

“You don’t have to,” Dr. Hartford says. “If you’d prefer, I’ll try to keep my questions yes or no. Is that okay with you?”

The question seems absurd but he nods anyway.

“Okay. Can you remember how long it’s been since you were last able to speak?”

He thinks about it, then shakes his head. It’s a lie; he knows exactly when the last time he spoke easily was. But she doesn’t need to know that. Doesn’t need to know about the Dark Room.

“But you were able to once, right? You used to be able to talk, before?”

He nods. She already knew that, though. She’s just trying to see if he understands his situation. Trying to find out if he’s too traumatized to be let back into the world.

She’s writing something on her clipboard as she continues questioning him, “The people who took you, do you remember anything about them?”

He shrugs, though it’s another lie. He remembers everything about his time on Antar. It’d be hard to forget.

“Is that an ‘I don’t know’ or a ‘sort of’?” Dr. Hartford asks.

For a moment Alex isn’t sure how she expects him to answer that. She looks like she’s about to rephrase the question when he holds out two fingers.

“Sort of, then?”

He nods again.

“Did they ever take measures to prevent you from talking? From what you can remember?”

Again Alex nods, getting tired of the gesture. Measures is an understatement. There had been a lengthy period when he’d been punished endlessly for forgetting his place and opening his damn mouth. The beatings and the caging were the easiest of them. There were times when he’d been made to wear a shock collar. Others when he’d been gagged, sometimes for days, weeks, months on end. The worst times were when his mind was infiltrated and he was silenced from the inside out. He’d been stubborn and difficult to train, but eventually he’d learned how to be a proper consort. Maybe that’s what the problem is now; his brain is just overcompensating for how long it took him to get it right.

Dr. Hartford continues to question him for what feels like forever. In reality he knows it’s probably no more than an hour. She smiles brightly when she thanks him for his time—as though he had any real choice about talking to her—and steps out of the room. He hears her talking to someone, but he can’t see who. Nor can he understand what’s being said. 

She’s probably talking to Flint. He’s the only one she’s legally allowed to give any information on his condition to, after all. At least, Alex is pretty sure that’s how it works. He can’t remember if that’s one of those things that’s only true in the movies. Flint’s here every day, stands awkwardly in the doorway and gauges Alex’s reaction. And every day he winds up sitting outside the room, disappointed. Alex can’t stand hurting his brother, but still hopes Flint won’t try to come in and talk to him again today. He’d already tried this morning and Alex isn’t sure he can handle it a second time.

To his relief it’s not Flint that comes into the room when the talking outside stops but Michael. Alex sits up straighter—not that he was slouching or anything, he would never—and studies his face for any sign of how he’s feeling. Some clue to let Alex know how he should be acting right now. Whether he should be apologetic or not. Did he do well answering Dr. Hartford’s questions, or did he slip up somewhere? It’s hard to tell how Michael’s feeling these days; he just looks exhausted all the time.

He sits in the chair Dr. Hartford just left and takes Alex’s hand, exhaling heavily, “She uh, she bought it. She was talking about trauma and selective mutism and memory repression and stuff. Isobel looked in her head and she doesn’t think anything’s off about what you told her.”

Alex keeps his posture proper but feels himself relax slightly as a weight lifts from his shoulders. He’s done well, then. Enough that Michael is pleased about it, at least.

“We’re almost in the clear, Alex,” Michael goes on. “Few more days, at most. Max is handling things with the cops and Kyle’s handling things here and Isobel’s helping them both out, so between all of them we should be good. For now. We’ll have to keep at it until everyone gets used to a whole-ass human being coming back from the dead. At least this town’s got practice, right?”

Michael forces a laugh with his last sentence and Alex tries to offer a smile at his joke. Rosa’s been to visit him as much as anyone else, so Alex assumes people have accepted her return well enough. He’s glad for that. Glad for her having the second chance she deserves. He just wishes she wasn’t wasting so much of her time visiting him here.

They all come to visit, every day. Not at the same time, of course, but everyone in their entire group makes an appearance at least once a day. Arturo and Sheriff Valenti come to see him, too. Maria’s brought Mimi a few times, though she’s usually under the impression that he’s sixteen and recovering from some awful thing his father will get away with doing to him. Even Jenna, who doesn’t even live in the state anymore, flew in to visit him. His room is decorated with cards and flowers and gifts from people he hasn’t seen since long before he left Earth. His old Air Force buddies, mostly, though a number of people in town have seen fit to send him things. On one visit, Mimi insisted on buying him a teddy bear from the gift shop while thinking he’s nine again and has just had his tonsils removed. 

The whole thing is a far cry from the last time he’d been hospitalized. A military facility. No visitors, no cards, no gifts, no letters. He hadn’t even gotten so much as an email. The only person who’d come to see him had been his father, a visit which can hardly be counted when it was only to make himself look good. Alex had been completely alone then, left to grieve his losses and come to terms with his new reality on his own. 

Not that he’d really been expecting any different. He’d only had two lifelong, ride-or-die friends during his service, and they’d both been lost right along with his leg. His more casual friends had more important things to do than write to him or visit him. Liz and Maria were both wrapped up in their own issues. Issues a lot more significant than a guy they hadn’t seen in almost a decade being in the hospital. Kyle hadn’t been his friend in well _over_ a decade by that point. And Michael, well. Michael had hated Alex then, as he should have. If Alex hadn’t come back to Roswell, he’d probably have continued to do so, but as always Alex had to mess things up for him. 

No, Alex had had no reason to think anyone would pay any mind to him being in the hospital that time. It may have hurt, but he understood. Still, this time is nicer. Strange and unnecessary and sometimes a little overwhelming, but nice.

“Hey, you with me?” Michael asks, giving his hand a light squeeze.

Startled, Alex forces another smile and nods. Hopes that Michael hasn’t said anything significant while he was spaced out. He curses himself for not paying attention. Michael ought to have his undivided attention and nothing less. He can’t be thinking about something as meaningless as what he feels. Not when Michael hasn’t told him to, anyway. 

Michael reaches out and brushes his thumb under Alex’s eyes one at a time, surprising him further. He doesn’t know when or why he started crying, but the tears are there nonetheless.

“It’s gonna be okay, Alex,” Michael promises. “You’re safe now. There’s nothing to worry about. You’re home.”

They say things like that to him a lot. Things like _it’s okay_ and _you’re safe._ He’s not really sure why they keep telling him that he’s safe when he’d never been in danger in the first place. There’s no way they could know about the Deep City or the Dark Room, so there’s no reason for them to be trying so hard to comfort him. They’re all acting like he’s been tortured or something and he can’t figure out why. It’s not as though he’d been dragged away kicking and screaming. 

Surely they remember what happened that night, don’t they? Not an abduction but an arrangement. He hadn’t been kidnapped, he’d agreed to go. They’d all agreed. He doesn’t understand why they seem so upset about it now.

The only explanation he can think of is that it’s an act for the hospital staff. Under normal circumstances it would be, well, normal to console someone in his position. The rest of the world doesn’t know—can’t know—that he’d left of his own free will. So of course they’re treating him like there were no aliens involved and they’re just a group of friends relieved that he’s come back alive. It looks normal. It keeps suspicion to a minimum.

But it doesn’t explain why they’re doing it even when no one else is around. It doesn’t explain the constant stream of gentle, reassuring touches. It doesn’t explain why they all visit every single day—no one would think anything of it if only one or two people came per day. It doesn’t explain why Michael still looks at him exactly the same way he always has. Why he holds Alex’s hand all the time and speaks to him so softly. Why he never leaves Alex’s side. It doesn’t explain why Alex is here at all.

They’d violated the agreement in bringing him back to Earth and put themselves in incredible danger by doing so. The whole point of the deal was to keep them safe. And for four years all involved parties had held up their respective ends. The only reason Alex can think of for them to suddenly break it is that they need him. Need him to handle some new threat that’s risen up. One great enough for them to take such a risk. His father is the only possibility he can think of, but even that seems unlikely. They have Flint with them and he’s always been more capable of handling their father than Alex has.

Whatever task they need him for, he’s sure they’ll tell him once he leaves the hospital. Once they’re absolutely certain no one outside the loop will be able to overhear. He’s not sure he’ll really be able to help, though. Long out of practice, he hardly has his old skills anymore. They’re not exactly like riding a bike, either. He’ll do his best, though, to get them through whatever it is they need him for. To make sure they’re safe again. After that it’s just a matter of finding a way to get him back to Antar before revenge comes seeking them. If they don’t, Alex isn’t sure he’ll be able to save them this time.

***

Alex has been back on Earth for six days when he’s finally discharged from the hospital. There’s paperwork and all sorts of discussions going on around him. Talks of follow-ups and therapy and interviews and physical therapy. Fittings for a new prosthetic; his originals are long gone and he can’t use the Antaran one on Earth. No one is talking directly to Alex so he doesn’t pay too much attention to any of it. The decisions aren’t his to make anyway. He just waits patiently to find out what he’s needed for.

It’s about nine in the morning when a nurse helps him from his bed into a wheelchair and brings him down to the lobby. He holds the teddy bear from Mimi against his chest the whole way. After a hushed conversation with Flint—who smiles weakly at Alex before leaving—Michael walks to the lobby beside Alex, carrying a bundle of paperwork. Behind them Liz and Rosa are following with every gift and card and bouquet Alex has been sent gathered up in two boxes between them. They load them into the back of Michael’s truck when they get outside, while Michael helps Alex into the passenger’s seat. A chain dangling from the rearview mirror catches his attention, but he can’t place where he knows it from. Has it always been there? He doesn’t think so. It’s not important; he folds his hands in his lap and looks ahead of him, waiting.

“You’re gonna go straight home?” Liz asks Michael.

He nods, “Yeah. I uh, Kyle says we should let him get settled before we try anything.”

“Right,” Liz says, “right. Okay, um, just ...call me when you get home.”

Michael laughs at the request but agrees, “I will.”

Liz turns to address Alex through the open window, “Alex? We’ll see you soon, okay? In the meantime you just get some rest.”

When he looks at her and nods she smiles softly and leans into the window to kiss his cheek as though she hadn’t hugged and kissed him less than a minute ago. He doesn’t mind; he craves touch so badly these days it almost hurts to be without it. She says something to Michael that Alex can’t hear while Rosa kisses the tip of her index finger and reaches through the window to poke his forehead playfully. Both of them hug Michael like they’ve just survived the apocalypse before he pries himself away from them and gets into the driver’s seat.

He reaches over and squeezes Alex’s shoulder, “You ready?”

Alex nods. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to be ready for, exactly, but that hardly matters. It’s not like he can ask—and if he could, it wouldn’t be his place to anyway—so there’s no sense in delaying things. Michael, for his part, looks ready for a good night’s sleep, far away from the chair next to Alex’s hospital bed. He looks like he could sleep for a week and still use more rest. Poor guy probably can’t wait to get into his own damn bed. Alex curses himself for keeping him from it for so long.

Other than how tired he looks Michael seems to be doing well. He looks better than ever, actually. Not that Alex ever thought Michael looked _bad,_ far from it. But it’s clear he’s been taking better care of himself since Alex left. There’s no smell of alcohol and his clothes look freshly washed. His curls look softer than ever; Alex wants so badly to run his fingers through them that it takes everything he has to remind himself of his place. There’s something else different about Michael now that Alex can’t quite put his finger on. Almost like there’s some horrible burden he’s finally freed himself from and now he can breathe easily. It just reaffirms that Alex made the right choice in leaving.

The town hasn’t changed much. For the most part everything seems to be the same as it was when he left, save for a new coat of paint here and there. So it doesn’t take Alex long to realize that they’re not heading toward Michael’s Airstream. Michael had said they were going home, but the junkyard is in the exact opposite direction. Could Michael have moved? It’s certainly possible after four years, but Alex can’t imagine where he would …

An unwanted sense of dread fills Alex’s bones. The Wild Pony—and Maria’s apartment above it—is in this direction. Of course Michael’s living with her now, it only makes sense. With Alex finally out of their way completely, there’s been no reason for them to hold back. They’ve let their love grow into the perfection they both deserve. It’s only natural that they’d move in together. They’re probably so happy in their cozy home, just the two of them. The soft, peaceful life that eluded them for so long. Alex wants to be happy for them. _Is_ happy for them. They deserve it.

He just doesn’t want to see it. Not like _this._ Not all day, every day. Living silent and still like a pet within their walls. An outsider intruding on the sanctity of their life together. The pathetic ex that Michael can’t get away from. A pathetic _nobody_ on a planet where no one wants him. Where no one loves him.

“You okay?” Michael asks suddenly. “Alex?”

Shame burning in his face, Alex nods. Michael’s looking at him with such worry, such concern. Even after everything, he’s somehow found it in himself to care about Alex. And here Alex is once again just selfish in return. There’s no place here for petty jealousy. Michael and Maria are in love and living their hard-earned happily ever after, and that’s all there is to it. Alex’s feelings don’t matter, theirs do. He spent enough time being in their way before he knew his place, he’s not about to fall back into old habits now. He knows better now. If Michael wants him in his and Maria’s home, that’s where he’ll be. He’ll be good and do as he’s told and if his heart hurts in the process, that’s his problem—his fault—and no one else’s.

“Are you sure?” Michael asks. “Do you need me to pull over?”

Alex shakes his head, offers an apologetic smile. He needs to do better. He can’t be causing more problems for Michael, not when there’s obviously something bad already going on. That’s right. Something bad is happening and they need his help to fix it. That’s why he’s here and that’s all he ought to be thinking about. He just has to find out what that bad thing is and what he’s supposed to do about it.

He keeps his eyes focused in front of him, but he can still see Michael glancing worriedly at him every few minutes. Probably afraid that Alex will get sick and vomit in his truck. Or that having Alex around again is going to make things difficult for him and Maria; dredge up bad memories and old wounds. He’s not going to let that happen. He buried that pain a long time ago and he won’t let it claw out of the grave in his heart no matter how hard it tries. 

His resolve shifts to surprise when, instead of taking a left toward Maria’s apartment, Michael keeps driving straight. Has _she_ moved? He supposes they could have found a new place together, rather than Michael simply moving into Maria’s. But it seems like an odd choice, given that she’s lived there her entire life and how much she loves the place. Or, had loved, apparently.

But Michael keeps driving, straight out of town altogether. After a few more minutes of confusion, Alex begins to understand. They’re going to the cabin. He remembers leaving it to Michael; he’d arranged it as soon as he’d learned that Michael was losing his home to the Air Force. Sure he’d found a new job and a new place for his Airstream easily enough, but Alex had wanted to ensure that Michael would always have a place to go. Wanted to shelter him, no matter what happened to Alex. 

He just hadn’t expected Michael to keep it. He’d been sure that Michael would have long since sold the cabin by now, used the money to keep himself afloat. He can’t possibly be living there, not with Maria. She’s never been a fan of the place. As much as she loves nature, she hates not having neighbors, concerned that help is too far away should something happen. There’s no way she’s been convinced to actually move there. Michael _could_ be living there on his own, but it doesn’t really seem like the kind of place he’d want to stay in either.

They’re almost halfway there when the answer clicks in Alex’s mind. Now that he’s out of the hospital, away from witnesses, there’s no need for anyone to fuss over him. No point in keeping up the ‘we were so worried’ charade. Michael is just dropping him off. After that he’ll go home himself and Alex will be left to his own devices. Suddenly living with Michael and Maria in their apartment doesn’t seem so bad.

The cabin is completely isolated. That isolation had once been a perk of living there—it’s quiet, peaceful—but now the very thought of being so far away from anyone is terrifying. He can’t be left alone. He’s not safe when he’s alone. He needs constant supervision, someone to watch him at all times. He needs someone to take care of him, someone to tell him what to do. Alex can’t survive on his own, not anymore. 

They don’t know that. No one on Earth does. He swallows his fears down, hoping Michael doesn’t notice. He’s just going to have to deal with it. It won’t be forever. He’s starting to remember how things work on Earth; people don’t get back to work the same day they get out of the hospital. They’re supposed to take a day to rest. By tomorrow, though, they’ll be putting him to work on whatever it is they need him for. Then they’ll send him back, he hopes. If they decide not to, he’ll just have to wait for whatever comes next. For his husband to come and get him, most likely. Alex just hopes he’ll be able to convince him not to hurt them when he arrives.

The real challenge will be getting through the nights. The cabin is pitch black at night. If the generator hasn’t been maintained over the years, the lights won’t work. If the flashlights are still there, their batteries have likely corroded over time. There might still be candles and matches there, but he can’t be sure. Even if there are, he doesn’t actually have permission to use any of them. In fact he doesn’t have permission to do anything. Which means he can’t _do_ anything. He’s just going to have to wait quietly, endure the darkness until dawn. Wait for Michael to come back for him in the morning. He can do it. He has to.

Surprises, it seems, are endless this week. First there Michael’s sudden reappearance in his life and his subsequent return to Earth. Then came everyone’s strange reaction to him; he’d certainly missed them all dearly, but they’re _obsessed_ with hugging him and telling him he’s safe. Next was the fact that Michael apparently still owns the cabin after all these years instead of having sold it. What tops all of them, however, is the sight of Michael’s Airstream off to the side of it.

Which means Michael _has_ been living here. Or at least using the place regularly. The only two explanations Alex can think of are either that the cabin is too small for everything Michael owns nowadays and thus he kept the Airstream for storage, or he’s too sentimentally attached to it to get rid of it. Whatever the explanation, Alex isn’t entitled to it.

“Just one second,” Michael says, shutting off the engine and hopping out of the truck. He runs into the cabin and returns a moment later carrying something Alex can’t quite see. When he opens Alex’s door, he holds up the prosthetic made for him on Antar. “We didn’t wanna risk anyone seeing it, but ...uh, I don’t know if you …”

Alex smiles reassuringly at Michael’s awkwardness. It’s unusual for him but endearing; it reminds Alex of the night he’d gone to give him his brother’s guitar in the toolshed. It’s clear he doesn’t quite grasp the scope of his authority yet. Doesn’t yet realize that Alex will do whatever he says. That shouldn’t be surprising, though. Michael never was the type to order people around. Alex takes the crystalline limb gratefully and slips it on.

Michael exhales deeply, smiles, “Okay. Um, okay. Yeah.” He holds his hand out and helps Alex out of the truck. Once Alex is standing Michael lingers for a moment, still holding his hand. He looks like he has something important to say, but instead he lets go of Alex’s hand and says, “We should, uh, we should get inside.”

Alex follows a step behind him, just as he’s been taught. Being back on Earth is no excuse to slack off and forgo proper etiquette; hands folded behind his back while walking and standing, in his lap while sitting. Back straight, always, chin up, eyes forward. Knees pressed tightly together. Like everything else, it took him an almost embarrassingly long time to get it right, but now that he has it he’s not going to mess it up again.

“Iz, um, she insisted on making a few ...adjustments,” Michael says when they get inside. “I hope that’s okay with you.”

He nods. It’s hard to miss the adjustments Isobel’s made. Like the basket of pink and purple faux flowers on the coffee table. The white throw rug on the floor and the wooden table lamps that are obviously supposed to have a rustic look to them. A wooden wall clock with roman numerals, designed to _look_ handmade but clearly built in a factory, has replaced the deer head by the fireplace. A number of books are gone from the shelves—probably taken by Kyle as they had belonged originally to his father—replaced by decorative mason jars filled with colorful pebbles. He doesn’t really mind any of it. Even if he did, the cabin is Michael’s to decorate, not his.

He stands off to the side as Michael closes the door and takes his jacket and hat off, hangs them both on the coat rack. Ever the gentleman, he helps Alex out of his jacket—another surprise, that they’ve kept his clothing, though he can hardly imagine any of them actually wearing it—and hangs it up too. He hasn’t been told where Michael wants him, so Alex stays where he is while Michael walks to the kitchen. He supposes if Michael wants him to follow, he’ll tell him. Until then he’ll wait where he is. It’s better to be in trouble for _not_ acting than to be in trouble for acting without orders.

Staring is rude, so Alex keeps his eyes on the wall in front of him rather than watch Michael go about his business. Still, he needs to be alert and ready to obey commands at any given moment. From the corner of his eye he can see Micheal running his perfect left hand—unscarred and unblemished—through his hair. He can hear him muttering something to himself. 

Michael turns suddenly, as though just realizing something, and asks, “What’re you doing?”

Alex just turns to look at him, having no way to answer his question. He doesn’t know how he can possibly convey without words that he’s not doing anything. He’s just waiting, like he’s supposed to. The best he can do is a timid shrug. It’s as close as he can get to saying _you haven’t told me_ what _to do._

“Why’re you just—fuck,” Michael curses, realizing himself that he can’t get an answer that way. “What’re, no, shit ...is there, is there some reason you’re just standing there?”

It’s not a question Alex was expecting. Nor is it one he has an answer to. He thinks it’s pretty obvious why he’s just standing here. On Antar he usually knew exactly where he was meant to go, what he was meant to be doing at any given moment. Things are different here. They’re not returning from some gala or banquet to a shared room with clearly defined expectations. They have no routine, no set of guidelines for Alex to follow. He’s just a stray Michael’s taking in for the time being. He’s not moving from the last place Michael left him because Michael hasn’t put him anywhere else. Because Michael doesn’t understand that he’s in charge; that Alex cannot do anything without his sayso.

Unless, of course, he does. Unless he _has_ given Alex some order to follow without him realizing it. It makes sense. There’s no other reason for Michael to wonder why Alex is still standing in the doorway. Not even a day alone with Michael and he’s already making mistakes. Having no other way to apologize, Alex lowers his head and stares at the floor in shame. He doesn’t mean to cry—crying over a transgression is little more than a manipulation to garner sympathy and get out of trouble, he knows that—but the tears spill out anyway. He’s trying so hard to be good but it’s no use. Apparently even the finest training in the universe can’t keep him from messing things up with Michael.

Michael is at his side in an instant, his strong, steady hands gently tilting his face back up, “Hey, hey, it’s okay. What’s wrong? Damnit, yes or no. Uh ...did I say something wrong?”

Taken aback by the very idea, Alex shakes his head. Then maybe, Michael _hadn’t_ given him an order after all. Which means Alex just upset himself, and more importantly Michael, for no reason.

“Okay,” Michael pauses, thinking carefully. Still holding Alex’s face gently between his hands, he runs his thumbs beneath his eyes, wiping the tears away. “Are you hurt?”

Alex shakes his head again, wondering if Michael’s just going to keep asking him yes or no questions until he figures out the problem. If he does, it might take the rest of their lives for him to get to, _are you upset because even after all these years you still cause me nothing but trouble?_

Michael hesitates, then slides one arm around Alex’s shoulders and gently guides him to the couch, “Alright, uh, why don’t you come sit down, okay? We’ll figure this out. We’ll get through this, Alex, I promise. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

Doing as Michael instructs, Alex sits on the couch and waits for his next order. Michael rubs his hand over Alex’s back, massaging gently. It’s a painfully familiar moment and Alex has to remind himself that his father isn’t about to barge in on them this time.

“Are you hungry?” Michael asks awkwardly.

Alex studies his face carefully. It’s only a little after ten in the morning and he knows Michael’s already had breakfast. They ate together before leaving the hospital. He can’t tell if Michael’s just asking to ask or he’s actually hungry himself. If it’s the former, Alex’s answer is no. If it’s the latter, the answer is yes. Unsure of which answer Michael wants from him, he shrugs uncertainly.

Michael sighs, “Yeah, I know, that was a dumb question. Sorry.” He takes a step back and rubs his hands over his face, muttering again, “Oh God what the fuck am I _doing?_ I’m so in over my head here …”

Suspecting that these musings aren’t meant for him to hear, Alex resumes his proper position while Michael starts pacing the room. He’d like to help, but he doesn’t know what’s upsetting him. He doesn’t know what he can do to ease poor Michael’s burden, whatever it may be. In fact, he doesn’t know anything about what’s happened in the time he was gone. He doesn’t even know why he’s here, what he’s supposed to be doing. If only someone would just _tell him_ what they brought him back to Earth for, he could try to help.

“I uh, I gotta ...um, I gotta do something real quick. I’ll, I’ll be right outside, okay?” Michael says.

Alex nods, watches him leave. He can hear him talking, but can’t tell if it’s to himself or if he’s on the phone. He doesn’t want to eavesdrop, but he can’t help trying to find out what has Michael so upset. If he can get even a sliver of information, maybe he can piece the rest together and help him. From his spot on the couch, he can just barely see Michael through the window. He’s pacing again and it looks like he’s on the phone, but that’s all he can tell.

His words don’t come through the wall clearly enough, and Alex can’t make them out. After a while Michael’s voice fades even more, like he’s walking away. It’s hard to tell, but it sounds as though he’s gone into his Airstream. Tempting though it is to get up for a better look, Alex stays where he is. He’s already pushed his luck enough for one day. When Michael is ready to tell him what’s going on, he’ll tell him. It’s that simple. He just has to be patient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written back in December so Kyle's story was originally about the meltdown Michael had when Alex was first taken, I decided to change it because it didn't seem to fit well and I figured why not include a reference to what's going on right now? Also the bit about the post office is true, if you live in the US please try to support your local post offices and contact your senators about protecting them. (preaching over)
> 
> Here's some of the decorations Isobel added to Alex's cabin.


	10. murder in his veins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Max and Rose are kidnapped by his father, Alex leads a rescue mission to bring them home safely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, friends! This week we return to the Before section. Warnings for this chapter include violence, internalized self-hatred, mentions kidnapping and of torture, plus Jesse Manes and all you might expect to come with him.

There are two things that Alex knows to be indisputably true right now. The first is that aliens are a magnet for trouble, no matter the circumstance. The simplest things get pushed to eleven whenever even one of them is involved; up to thirteen if it’s all three of them. He’s known this for a while, if he’s being totally honest with himself. He doesn’t begrudge them that. They don’t like it anymore than he does and really, he draws in plenty of trouble himself; a murderous family, a still unidentified stalker, really he’s no prize.

The second thing, and this is just a little harder for Alex to deal with, is that there is murder in his veins. To say it’s genetic might be going a bit far—that would be deeply unfair to the millions of others born to murderers who would never harm a fly. He doesn’t think it’s entirely environmental, either. After all, plenty of people grow up in violent households and don’t become violent people. It’s him, he thinks. Just him, personally, who is a murderous being. It fits. He’s left a trail of blood and anguish behind him all his life, so there’s no reason for him to think he’d ever _not_ be a murderer.

Regardless of the reason, there’s a body at his feet that used to be a living man. Now his face is bloody and there’s a puddle of blood beneath his head. Alex can’t take his eyes off of him.

It’s not the first time Alex has killed. That had been on a hunting trip when he was eight and he’d cried about it for over an hour after—Kyle didn’t look much happier about it. Jim Valenti had assured them that he hadn’t done anything wrong; they were going to eat the rabbit, after all, so it was no different than it being picked off by a coyote. His father’s approach, of course, had been to turn him over his knee once Jim was gone, and Alex had learned to keep his remorse to himself after every successful hunting trip from then on. He’s been in active combat zones, though active combat was never his primary role. His focus has always been on gathering information, but he knows he’s more than likely taken at least one life in the handful of firefights he’s been in. But that’s not an absolute certainty; if he tries hard enough he can convince himself he didn’t. 

This time is different. He’s not killing for food. There’s no way he can deny he’s done it. Not after feeling the bones crunch under his fists, watching the life actually fade from the man’s eyes as his body crumpled to the ground. It should be disturbing. It should be jarring. But it’s not. He doesn’t feel remorse over it. He doesn’t feel _anything._

Maybe that’s because this man helped kidnap Max and Rosa. Stood guard and ignored their suffering while they were subjected to who knows what. Maybe it’s because this man had tried—not recognizing him as a Manes and therefore someone to be taken alive—to kill him first. They’re both good reasons, but Alex is pretty sure it’s because of what the man had been doing in the moments before Alex caught up to him.

In fact, Alex is completely sure. It’s the third thing Alex knows to be indisputably true right now. Because just a second before Alex killed him, the man had been kicking the limp form at his feet. Kicking hard, more than hard enough to break ribs. Laughing as he did, declaring into his comms, _don’t worry, I’ll drag it down to the lab._ The fact that he’d caught sight of Alex at that exact moment and raised his gun, ready to pull the trigger, was just the final nail in the coffin. 

Alex hadn’t really thought about the risk he was taking in rushing forward. Hadn’t thought about drawing his own gun. Hadn’t thought about how lucky he was that the distance between them was short enough for him to close it before the man could pull the trigger. Really, he hadn’t thought about _anything_ until his fist connected with the man’s jaw. And then all he could think about was that he needed to do it again. And again. And again. Until the man’s bloody corpse fell to the ground and Alex’s hands were shaking and bruised from what he’d done.

Somewhere in his brain he’s aware that he’s hurt too. His mouth is bleeding, he thinks. The man had put up a good fight. Alex continues to stare at him until his breathing evens out, then turns his attention to more important matters.

He crouches down by the prone figure the man had kicked, “Guerin?”

Michael has a patch of blood on the side of his head and there’s a syringe on the floor next to him. Poor guy never stood a chance. Which brings Alex back to the first thing he knows to be indisputably true right now; aliens attract trouble. If Michael had just done what Alex instructed and waited at the entrance, he wouldn’t be bloody and sedated. Just like if Max—after being alive again for exactly a day and a half after seven months of being dead—had listened to _anyone,_ they wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place. 

But no, Max couldn’t wait for them to iron out the details of their cover story. Couldn’t accept that Rosa was decidedly _not_ ready to talk to him yet after what he and his siblings had done to her. Instead of staying hidden in the cave for just another day, Max had gone out to try and talk to her anyway. Because he just _had_ to apologize then and there. And of course he’d been spotted by the wrong person, and _of course_ he’d gotten both himself and Rosa captured by Project Shepherd. That was twelve days ago. Twelve days of agonizingly trying to find out where they’d been taken and work out how to rescue them. 

A good chunk of those twelve days had involved him getting everyone to hold it together. Liz and Kyle—who, to their credit, had handled themselves with the utmost grace when they could science their way out of the problem—were too far out of their element to do anything of real use. Maria wasn’t much better, but she did make a valiant, if futile, effort to divine their location with powers Alex only partly believes are even real. Still, they’d all accepted that there wasn’t much they could do but follow orders. They went over the files Alex gave to them and searched for any hints as to where Max and Rosa could’ve been taken. It wasn’t much, but they were trying. The real problem was the remainder of the pod squad. 

Isobel had had a complete meltdown the moment she realized Max was—yet again—in danger. She shifted constantly between anger at him and panic for him and Rosa. Alex hadn’t expected much else from her—holding it together under duress is definitely not a talent possessed by one Isobel Evans—and he sympathized. Of course he did. But he needed her powers to gather intel and it was hard not to be annoyed when she insisted she could handle things one minute, then fell to pieces the next. Fortunately, after five days, he found a way for Liz and Kyle to be useful and put them in charge of managing Isobel. Too busy being worried about Rosa and Max to care about hurting Isobel’s feelings, they gave her both the encouragement and the kick in the ass she needed to really stay focused.

Michael had been worse. He’d been pure anger. He’d thrown a tantrum large enough that he almost revealed himself to the entire world. Disappeared for two days. Screamed at Alex and Maria both when they tried to calm him down when he finally returned. Screamed about how everyone must be determined to leave him if Max would actually do it _three_ times in one lifetime. Alex isn’t proud of the fact that after a week of this he—as the only person that could somehow get close enough to him—had to use Liz’s serum on Michael just to restrain him. To keep him from hurting anyone, himself included.

It took a lot to get him to settle down, but eventually he’d apologized and gotten to work, helping with the files. By the tenth day, between the files they already had and the data Alex and Isobel collected—virtually and telepathically—they’d found where Rosa and Max were being held. After that they just needed a plan to get in and rescue them.

Getting in had been easy. Between the authority he derived from both his rank and his family, and a little influence from Isobel, he’d practically walked right in with Kyle and Liz behind him. It was easy to pass them off as a new pair of scientists coming to see the _specimens._ Convincing the guards that Michael was a soldier was almost entirely on Isobel, but she’d managed. Together they’d succeeded in making the skeleton crew of six soldiers and three so-called doctors think they’d belonged there. Max and Rosa were the only prisoners here, which meant they wouldn’t have to hurriedly try and find a way to transport and hide even more people. 

It was a simple plan; Michael would stand guard at the entrance while Alex, Liz, and Kyle found Rosa and Max. Then they just needed to smuggle their captive friends out to the cars, where Maria and Isobel were waiting as the getaway drivers. Once that part of the plan was in motion, Alex had ordered Liz and Kyle to go without him as he’d rushed to the control room. It was easy to disabled their security and delete the footage of the break-in. He was in the middle of downloading information to his flash drive—information he was sure Michael would want—when he heard one of the soldiers mention his father’s name. Things had been going well until that exact moment.

Isobel had entered his mind a second after, telling him that Michael had barged his way in instead of waiting and set off the alarms.Thankfully this place isn’t rigged to blow like Caulfield was. Alex had told Isobel to get into Michael’s head and tell him to stick to the plan, that everything was under control. Then he assured her he’d be right out himself. He just needed another minute to finish his download, then he could use the chaos to slip out. It wouldn’t be hard. They’d locked two of the so-called doctors together in the cell they’d kept Max in and the third with the soldier that had been escorting them in Rosa’s—Liz’s idea. Michael had incapacitated the two soldiers in the entrance telekinetically. Alex had trapped one more in a stairwell by reprogramming the electronic door locks so no one had authorization to open them.

That left two more soldiers, and supposedly his father. He could handle that. One soldier was in the holding area trying to free the others, unaware that Alex had already changed the access codes to the cells. The other one was nowhere near Alex’s path to the entrance. He could make it there easily. His father, well, his father was nowhere to be seen on any of the cameras. Whether that means a blindspot or that he’s not really here after all, Alex doesn’t know. There was no time to worry about it. He’d escape or he’d be captured. It didn’t matter to him which; either way everyone else would be safe. He’d told them all before they even started that if he took more than ten minutes to get out, to just leave. They weren’t happy but eventually they’d agreed.

He’d been halfway to the entrance—relieved that things were actually working out despite Michael’s blunder—when Isobel had gotten into his head again, frantically telling him that while the rest of them are at the cars, Michael hadn't come out yet. Which had left Alex cursing and turning straight back around to find him. And since everything involving aliens has to be extra trouble, of course Michael was in the process of being captured himself when Alex finally found him. Because why _wouldn’t_ Alex have to beat a man to death to rescue Michael today, it’s not like he has enough to worry about already.

“Guerin,” He tries again, pulling him up and turning him over. Other than the bloody patch—which looks like it’s stopping already—he doesn’t look hurt. He’s breathing steadily enough, but he’s not responding in the slightest. Alex has no way to know what Michael’s been sedated with or how long it will last. He doesn’t have time to find out. Glad he hasn’t slacked off on his physical therapy at all, Alex heaves Michael off the floor and over his shoulder, groaning, “Damnit, Guerin, lose some fucking weight.”

It’s slow going, slower even than it would be were he carrying Michael’s dead weight on two good legs. He has to brace himself against the wall for balance. But he can do this. He’s carried Michael to safety before—years ago, when Alex was weaker and virtually useless—he can do it again. At least he doesn’t have to go up or down any stairs.

“It’s okay, Guerin,” He pants, not caring whether or not Michael can hear him. Two more turns down stupidly long hallways until they get to the entrance. Three minutes, tops. “We’re almost there, almost—”

He should know better than to express any kind of optimism by now. He really should. But it’s too late to think about that now as his right leg is suddenly kicked out from under him. Between the shock of it and Michael’s weight, he can’t balance on his left alone and tumbles backward to the ground. He shifts mid-fall to keep Michael from hitting his head, his own crashing down on the concrete floor as a result. He tries to get back up but he’s dizzy now and can’t move fast enough with Michael on top of him. Someone grabs him by his right leg and drags him through a door he hadn’t even known was there.

_“Fuck!”_ He shouts at the pain of his prosthetic being yanked out of alignment. It’s still on him but he can’t walk on it as it is now, meaning he and Michael are trapped with whoever’s grabbed him.

“You watch your mouth, young man,” is his father’s reply.

“Sergeant,” Alex says, clutching Michael to his chest as he sits up.

The Master Sergeant points his gun at them, “Get away from it, Alex.”

Alex glares at him, “If you’re gonna kill me, get it over with.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jesse says, “what kind of monster do you think I am? I wouldn’t kill my own child.”

“No,” Alex says, “that would be _merciful._ ”

He can’t fight his way out of this. Not while protecting Michael. His father really won’t kill him—it’s the one line he won’t cross—but that doesn’t mean he won’t hurt him. He’ll hurt him in ways that make death seem like a blessing. And he’ll use Michael to do it. He’ll use him as leverage, just as he had ten years ago. If Alex makes a move, Michael will be the one he shoots. It doesn’t matter that Alex has him pressed against himself; no doubt after the incident with Kyle, his father is expecting the kevlar vest Alex has on.

Jesse shakes his head, “You don’t know what you’re saying, son. It’s gotten into your head and it’s making you do things I know you would never do.”

_“Stop calling him_ it,” Alex growls, holding Michael tighter.

He feels him begin to stir in his arms. The sedative must be wearing off. It’s just a matter of time, now. And if Alex can buy that time, maybe they have a chance. Michael doesn’t have to be fully recovered to shield himself from one bullet, and even with one leg Alex won’t need more than a second to tackle his father. Head on he can win that fight. He’s already beaten one man to death in cold blood for Michael today, what’s one more? He’ll set fire to his soul for Michael if that’s what it takes to keep him safe.

“I know you think I’m the villain here, but you’re just confused. I’ve only ever tried to protect you, including from yourself. But I’m warning you, son, I _will_ lock you away if that’s what it takes to keep you safe.”

“I don’t doubt that you’d lock me up,” Alex agrees, “but not to keep me safe. To keep me out of your way.”

 _Keep him talking,_ he thinks. A few minutes, that’s all they need.

“You’ve never been in my way,” Jesse claims. “If anything it’s my fault we’ve reached this point.”

Alex laughs, “Oh the world is ending.”

“It’s the truth. I knew you were sick, ever since you were a child. I should have intervened sooner. If I had, maybe I could’ve protected you from Guerin’s assault.”

“Michael has _never_ hurt me,” Alex half-lies. Physically it’s true, anway. Emotionally ...well, maybe Alex had that coming anyway. “He never hurt _you_ either, even when you _mangled_ him.”

“He raped you, Alex,”

_“Fuck you!”_

“It _raped_ you,” Jesse repeats. “And then it attacked me when I tried to save you.”

Alex’s grip on Michael is so tight now there’s a chance he might be hurting him. _Is_ hurting him, if the slight groan that escapes his lips is anything to go by. Maybe the pain will wake him faster.

_“Shut up,”_ he spits, trembling with rage. Furious tears sting his eyes but he won’t let them fall. Won’t give his father that satisfaction. Not again.

Naturally, Jesse just keeps going, “You were so frightened. And so confused. The trauma was too much for you. You didn’t _understand_ what was happening so your mind created a new reality that you _could_ understand. None of this is your fault, son. You were sick and vulnerable and it took advantage of you.”

_“That’s_ not _what happened and you_ know it!”

“Alex, do you really believe that he loves you?”

“No,” Alex admits easily. Of course Michael doesn’t love him, not after everything that’s happened. It’s a testament to what a good person he is that he’s willing to still try and be friends. “Not anymore. But he _did,_ and that’s more than _you_ can say, _Dad._ ”

Michael is starting to squirm in his arms. Just another minute or two. They can make it.

“Holy Jesus,” Flint’s voice comes from behind Alex and the world goes cold.

Of course he’s here too. Because while Alex was stalling, Jesse has been stalling him right back. Waiting for Flint to get here. Between the two of them they can easily subdue him, drag Michael away from him. It’s over. His brother comes into view, supporting the bloody man from earlier on his shoulder. Not dead after all, it seems, because apparently Alex can’t even commit a murder right. Some Manes man he is.

“You’re just in time, Flint,” Jesse says. “Take your brother to his room so I can bring our new specimen to the lab.”

Flint walks passed Alex and deposits the bloody man onto a bench across the room. He turns to their father, “Dad, are you sure—”

“Don’t argue with me, son,” Jesse silences him. 

Michael is mumbling something incoherent, but it’s too late. They’ve already lost. Alex holds him impossibly tighter. He presses his face into his hair and squeezes his eyes shut. He can’t stop the tears now. There’s no point in it anyway.

“I’m sorry, Michael,” He whispers. “I tried. I love you. I’m so _sorry.”_

There’s a silence and then Flint says, “Put it down.”

Alex, so tired of everyone calling Michael _it,_ doesn’t move. 

“Flint,” Jesse questions, “what are you doing?”

That has Alex looking up. What he finds is about the last thing he’s ever expected. Flint is aiming his gun at their father, wisely keeping just out of his reach.

“You heard me,” Flint replies. “Put it down. Drop the gun, now.”

Jesse glares at him for a moment before complying, keeping his hands raised.

Flint jerks his gun toward the bench, “Sit. Next to Mills.”

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” Jesse asks, slowly doing as he’s told.

Flint ignores him, glances at Alex, “Can you walk?”

“Yeah,” Alex breathes, not sure what’s happening.

“Then go,” Flint says. “Get the hell out of here.”

Both of them ignoring their father’s demands for an explanation, Alex hurries to adjust his prosthetic enough to stand on it, “What’re you gonna do?”

“You let me worry about that,” Flint replies. “You just take your stupid alien boyfriend and go.”

Getting to his feet carefully and struggling to hold Michael up, Alex shakes his head, “Flint—”

“Alex, _go!”_ Flint demands. He’s not an officer barking orders. He’s just an older brother telling his younger brother what to do.

“Ales,” Michael slurs, finally beginning to hold some of his own weight. “Wha’s …wha’s hap’n ...”

“Be careful, Flint,” Alex says, backing out the door. He doesn’t want to leave Flint alone with the Master Sergeant, but he can’t risk Michael’s life just so he can find out what’s going on in his brother’s head.

Not looking at him, Flint nods, “You too, buddy.”

Alex lugs Michael back into the hallway. It’s somewhat easier now that he’s not entirely dead weight. And in a strange continuance of this good luck streak, when he turns the corner he finds Kyle rushing toward them.

“Holy shit, what happened?” He asks.

Alex—too relieved to be mad that Kyle is risking his life by coming back in—pushes Michael into Kyle’s currently more stable arms, “Don’t ask, just carry him.”

Kyle takes Michael from him without complaint and Alex trails a step behind as they escape the facility. Maria’s car is nowhere to be found—unsurprising, as they’d probably decided to get Max and Rosa to safety as soon as possible—but Isobel’s is waiting for them. Alex takes Michael back from Kyle and climbs into the back seat with him while Kyle gets into the front. Isobel wastes no time in speeding away the second the doors are closed.

“What the hell happened back there?” She asks, glancing at them through the rearview mirror.

“Uh, my dad,” Alex says. “Basically.”

Isobel is struggling to keep her eyes on the road, “Is, is Michael,”

“M’okay,” Michael groans, slumped over in Alex’s arms but awake.

“Oh God,” Isobel breathes a sigh of relief, “okay. Okay good.”

“Alex?” Kyle asks.

“I’m fine,” he says.

“You’re bleeding,” Kyle points out. “Both of you.”

Alex rubs the back of his head gingerly, feels where it’s sticky beneath his hair, “It’s not bad. I don’t think Michael’s is either but feel free to squeeze back here and have a look, doc.”

_“M’okay,”_ Michael insists. “Wha’ happen?”

“What happened,” Alex replies, “is that you’re a fucking _imbecile_ who can’t follow simple instructions.”

“Yes that’s exactly right,” Isobel agrees.

“What the _hell_ were you _thinking_ Guerin?” Alex demands.

Michael lifts his head to look up at him. His eyes are wide and innocent. He grins and Alex’s heart _melts_ at the sight, “Your daad ...is an aasshole.”

In front of them, Kyle snorts and Isobel huffs with a roll of her eyes.

“That’s never been in question,” Alex remarks. “And it doesn’t answer mine.”

“I was worried,” Michael admits, the first sentence he hasn’t slurred in some way.

“You blew the whole plan to hell, Michael,” Kyle scolds. “You almost got yourself _and_ Alex killed.”

“Well _excuse me,_ ” Michael retorts. Not his best comeback, but he _is_ suffering a head injury.

Alex, softened by Michael’s confession, tries a gentler approach, “I know you were trying to help but you could’ve died, Guerin. You can’t go taking risks like that.”

“But _you_ can?” Michael protests, sitting upright. Alex already misses having him in his arms.

“I’m _literally_ trained for this kind of thing,” Alex reminds him. “You’re not.”

“That’s _why_ we put him in charge, Michael,” Isobel points out. “He’s kind of the only person in this group qualified for this shit.”

“You’re not helping, Iz,” Michael complains.

“She actually is,” Alex counters. “She’s just not helping _you._ We got lucky this time, if Flint hadn’t …” He trails off, not knowing what to say. He doesn’t actually _know_ what Flint did. Turned on their father, that much he knows. But why?

“Flint? Your brother?” Isobel asks.

Alex nods, “Yeah. He ...he saved us. I don’t know why, but he let us go.”

He turns to look out the window, trying to get his thoughts in order. Kyle is staring at him; he’s the only one here who knows exactly how close he and Flint once were. Michael and Isobel have only ever known him as someone trying to live up to the Manes reputation. As someone who helped torture and murder their people. Michael’s mother. Maybe his father. Maybe Max’s and Isobel’s parents too. Alex isn’t sure what he feels about this, but there’s a lot of it.

***

Kyle examines Alex and Michael’s injuries when they get back to the Project Shepherd bunker and declares they both just need rest. With that out of the way, everyone immediately makes a point of scolding or lecturing Michael for his actions. Liz yells at him in Spanish. Maria punches him in the shoulder. Michael takes it all in stride, most likely because his stupidity still wasn’t enough to outdo Max’s and for once he gets to hold that over him.

Once everyone is settled for the time being, Alex excuses himself from the group. No one questions him when he says he needs some space and he’s glad for that. He has a lot to sort out right now and he’s not sure he can do it with everyone else around.

Sitting alone in one of the offices, he tries to figure out why Flint had let him go. He hates aliens just as much as their father, he’d made that clear months ago. And he’d given up on Alex _years_ ago; he’d made _that_ clear when Alex was sixteen and Flint told him that everything would get better if he just “gave up the gay thing”. It doesn’t make much sense for him to have suddenly sided with Alex over their father. The only times he’s been on Alex’s side were when their father was in no way involved. He had been today, though, and Alex is afraid it may cost his brother his life.

“Are you okay?” Michael asks, approaching him.

Alex, just realizing he’s been sitting here for over two hours, nods, “Yeah. More or less. How’re Rosa and Max doing?”

“Sleeping,” Michael replies. “Max says they didn’t do much to them. Took some blood, X-Rays, stuff like that. Nothing ...invasive.”

“Good.”

Michael sits beside him and sighs, “Look, I’m sorry for what I did back there. It was stupid.”

“Extremely,” Alex agrees.

“And reckless.”

Alex nods, “Yes, that too.”

“I just ...I heard them say his name and I …”

“I get it,” Alex says gently. He does. Of course Michael would want to go after Alex’s father. Want a chance to get revenge for his mother. “After everything he put you through, it makes sense you’d try to go after him.”

Michael shakes his head, “That’s not—”

“Alex!” Liz calls, rushing into the room. “We have a ...problem. Maybe.”

“What’s wrong?” He asks, getting to his feet. He’s suddenly very shaky and remembers he hasn’t eaten since before the rescue mission. Add that to the loss of adrenalin and he’s about ready to collapse. Hopefully whatever the problem is won’t be too difficult to take care of.

“Can this wait, Liz?” Michael asks.

“No,” Liz insists, already leaving the room. She doesn’t bother to elaborate as she rushes to the control room, her way of telling them that things will explain themselves. They do.

Alex sighs as he steps into the room, though he’s not entirely sure what emotion is behind it, “Flint.”

He’s sitting on the floor where Isobel—who’s staring him down a few feet away—has clearly thrown him. With her brain, which would explain why he looks so shaken. His hands are raised slightly, more in assurance that he means no harm than in surrender. Alex has to admit he’s actually impressed by Isobel right now; her past attempts to seem intimidating had always looked incredibly, well, _high school_ to him. But this time she looks like a genuine threat. There’s a fury pouring out of her that rivals both of her brothers and Alex can’t blame her. After all she’s been through, she’s not going to let anyone touch her family _again_. Kyle is just behind her, chest out and shoulders squared, while Maria is off to the side looking ready for anything.

“Alex,” Flint greets.

“What’s going on?” Alex asks.

“What’s going on,” Isobel says before Flint can answer, “is that Flint clearly let you go just so he could follow you here.”

“That’s not true,” Flint insists. “I swear, I’m alone, I’m unarmed, I just wanna talk.”

Alex walks over to Isobel, places a hand on her shoulder in hopes of calming her a little, “Then talk.”

Flint huffs, _“Alone.”_

“Not a chance in hell,” Michael says, moving to stand beside Alex.

Flint glares at him, “I just saved your life.”

“Which is the only reason you’re not dead yet,” Isobel retorts, and they all know she means it.

“Alright, alright,” Alex intervenes. “We’re all adults here.”

This isn’t going to go anywhere unless he takes control of the situation. Part of him wants to trust Flint but the idea that what happened today was premeditated has too much merit to disregard. Still, he’s willing to meet him halfway. He takes his brother back into the room he’d been in just a moment ago and convinces Michael and Isobel to wait outside the door. There’s no other way out of this room, so even if Flint tries anything he won’t be able to get anywhere. And Isobel’s already been in Alex’s head today—she’d established a connection in all of their minds so she could easily communicate with everyone during their rescue mission—so she’ll be able to listen in even from outside.

“Well?” He asks, once they’re—mostly—alone.

“Are you okay?” Flint asks.

“More or less,” Alex says with a shrug. Now that he has a chance to really look he sees that Flint has a black eye and there’s a hint of dried blood on his hands. “Are you?”

Flint shrugs as well, “More or less.”

Alex wants to laugh but he’s not willing to let his guard down yet, “What happened today, Flint?”

“I …” Flint sighs, “I’m not entirely sure. Look I know you’re still mad at me about Caulfield—”

“Among other things,” Alex agrees.

“I know I’ve messed up. I haven’t been a good brother. But I didn’t do any of it to hurt you, Alex,” Flint promises.

That Alex believes, but it doesn’t change much, “You still did it. You took part in torturing innocent people. Murdering them. You’re helping dad commit _literal genocide,_ Flint.”

_“They’re_ trying to kill _us,_ ” Flint insists. “Maybe your little friends are tame but the rest of them—”

“Are you kidding me? They’re _people,_ Flint. _All_ of them. Not monsters, not animals, _people._ ”

“Yeah, people who are planning to invade our planet and kill us all. Or enslave us.”

“Why the hell would you assume that?” Alex demands.

Flint scoffs, “When you were in tenth grade you petitioned the school to stop celebrating Columbus Day and you’re really asking me that?”

“Seriously? _That’s_ your logic? You do realize then that your whole argument is literally based on comparing them to _us?_ ”

“People are alike all over,” Flint remarks.

“Don’t quote Rod Serling at me,” Alex snaps. Damn him for trying to use Alex’s love of The Twilight Zone against him.

“I’ve spent years monitoring these people, Alex,” Flint goes on. “They’re dangerous. They’re all violent.”

“Did you ever consider that maybe that’s because they were _scared?_ They were being held captive on—what to them—is an alien planet. They were being experimented on and tortured. Don’t you think if you were locked up for seventy years you’d be violent too?”

Flint doesn’t seem to have an answer for that. He rubs the back of his neck and looks away from Alex with a sigh, something he usually does when he knows he’s wrong but doesn’t want to admit it. It’s a gesture Alex has seen plenty of. This is going to be even harder than he thought.

***

“What’re they saying?” Michael asks.

“Flint is going on about how we’re monsters and Alex is calling him on it,” Isobel replies. “And now they’re just ...sitting in annoyed silence. I think this is gonna take a while.”

“Do you think he can be trusted?”

Isobel shakes her head, “No. But Alex is ...hopeful. He’s trying to be realistic and also consider our feelings on it, but ...well, he _is_ his brother.”

“Yeah, well, he’s also a dick,” Michael mutters. Flint may have helped them today, but he’d still taken part in the torture and murder of his people. His mother. And from what he can tell, he’d certainly been no help to Alex in their childhood. “Like father, like son.”

“Do you remember anything that happened back there?” Isobel asks.

Michael shakes his head. It’s not entirely a lie. He’d heard a few snippets of the conversation going on around him at the facility. Jesse Manes threatening to lock Alex up, claiming he wants to protect him. Accusing Michael of taking advantage of Alex. Flint’s voice telling Alex to leave. It’s all jumbled up in his mind and he can’t fully make sense of it. 

Especially the part that sounded like Alex saying Michael doesn’t love him. That part he definitely misheard. Because Alex _must_ know that Michael loves him. Always has, always will. There’s no way he hasn’t made that clear, even after everything that’s happened.

“Alex is asking Flint what he did after you guys got out,” Isobel says suddenly. “He ...didn’t kill their dad. But apparently ...were it not for the whole ‘that place was illegal’ part, he would definitely be going to jail for whatever he did to him. Now he’s assuring Alex that we won’t be hearing from the Master Sergeant for some time.”

“Is he in another coma?” Michael inquires sarcastically.

“I don’t know, he won’t say. He’s not giving Alex too many details. And it’s actually pretty hard getting into his head. I don’t think I’ll be able to through the wall.”

Michael shrugs, “Guess it’s a family thing.”

“Michael,” Isobel’s voice is hard but cautious, “you know that ...Alex … _isn’t_ his family, right?”

Michael’s not sure he understands the question, “Yeah?”

Isobel presses her lips together, “I’m not sure you do.”

“What does that even mean, Iz?”

“It’s just ...Liz has forgiven me, for killing Rosa. So have Kyle and Maria, and Maria _hates_ me for a lot of other reasons. Even Rosa ...she doesn’t want to talk to me. I get that. She needs space and it could take years. But she understands it wasn’t me.”

“Because you didn’t actually kill Rosa, Noah did,” Michael reminds her. Their crime was covering it up, not the murder itself. The whole group knows that.

“Using me,” Isobel says.

“That wasn’t your fault!”

Isobel nods, “I know. I ...cannot be held accountable for another person’s actions. I am not Noah, even though he acted through me. I’m not responsible for the things he did.”

“No, no you’re not,” Michael agrees. She sounds like she’s trying to reassure herself of that as much as tell him. Like it’s a mantra she’s repeated to herself ad nauseum. But he’s still not sure what any of that has to do with Alex and his family.

“So why do you act like Alex is responsible for the things his family did?”

“I don’t!”

“You ...kind of do,” Isobel says.

“No,” Michael insists, “I don’t.”

“Whenever you talk about Jesse Manes,” Isobel explains gently, “you refer to him as ‘Alex Manes’s father’. And you say things like ‘the Manes family did this’ or ‘the Manes men are responsible for that’.”

“They are.”

“Yeah, but, Alex isn’t. He’s been trying to stop them ever since he found out what they’re doing. So why can’t you separate him from them?”

“I _do._ ”

“Not really, you—”

“We’re done talking about this,” Michael snaps. “What’re they saying now?”

Despite clearly wanting to push the issue, Isobel sighs and focuses again, “You, actually.”

“Me?”

“Flint is calling you Alex’s boyfriend, Alex is saying you’re just friends. Oh. He …” Isobel trails off, her face growing dark. “Flint knows about Trevor. He just compared you to him and Alex is _pissed._ I’m honestly surprised he’s not screaming right now.”

“Alex is scarier when he’s not screaming,” Michael remarks.

He tries to ignore the fact that he’s just been compared to that monster. It’s been a month since that awful day in Santa Fe and Michael wants nothing more than to forget about it. He still can’t believe Alex has forgiven him for the awful things he said to him that day. He’s still trying his best to be sure he deserves that forgiveness. And still debating tracking Trevor down and killing him anyway.

They wait outside the door for over an hour before Alex finally steps out. He looks exhausted. Michael can’t blame him given the day he’s had. And given how hungry he feels himself—when he’d actually eaten while Alex had been taking some time to himself earlier—he can’t imagine how starved Alex must be.

“He’s planning on going back to Munich,” Alex announces, more to Michael since Isobel has been in his head the whole time. “Officially he never left, so he doesn’t have much to sort out in that regard. Unless …”

“Unless?” Michael asks.

“Unless _we_ have a problem with it,” Isobel supplies, already knowing.

Alex nods, “Yeah. He knew it was risky to come here, but ...I don’t know, I guess he figured he’d have to give trust to earn it.”

_“Do_ we trust him?” Isobel asks.

“I _believe_ him,” Alex replies. “He won’t tell me what but I know our dad’s been blackmailing him with something. I know that doesn’t excuse anything and it doesn’t change that he does buy into the whole ‘alien invaders’ thing. So if you guys would rather we ...not let him leave ...I won’t argue.”

Isobel reaches out and puts her hand delicately on Alex’s elbow and he grasps it lightly. It makes Michael oddly jealous, how easily he accepts her touch. Not too long ago they were nothing more than civil to one another, and just barely. Then Santa Fe happened and Alex’s history with Trevor—some of it, anyway—spilled out. Now they’re ...well, not friends exactly, but there’s something adjacent to friendship between them. Some sort of understanding. Something that overrides the past in a way Michael can’t.

“He’s your brother, Alex,” Isobel says. “Your opinion here counts too.”

“You’re the ones he hurt,” Alex replies.

That’s not entirely true, Michael thinks. Flint hurt Alex too. Michael doesn’t know how deeply, but he remembers Kyle saying something once about Alex and Flint having been close as children. Now he almost wishes he actually paid attention when Kyle talked.

One thing he knows for sure is that he doesn’t like the way Alex looks right now. So small and feeble. He’s obviously exhausted and starving and this is all so much for him to deal with. It triggers every protective instinct Michael has. He just wants to take Alex away from here until he’s himself again. He wants to kill Flint for everything he’s done to Michael’s family, Alex included. But there’s also a part of him that wants to nurture that tiny spark of optimism he sees in Alex’s eyes. He wants to let him have his damn brother back and not have to feel like he’s some kind of anomaly in a legacy of pure evil.

“We could just erase his memories,” he suggests, looking for a middle ground they can all work with.

“I don’t know if I can,” Isobel disagrees. “That’s a lot of memory and really deeply ingrained. The deeper something is the harder it is to get rid of. I’d have to actually damage his brain and that would kind of defeat the purpose.”

“Should we consult Max on this?” Alex asks.

“Fuck no,” Michael says. “He didn’t talk to us about Liz’s sister, we don’t have to talk to him about your brother.”

“Um, okay,” Alex laughs, and it makes Michael’s heart flutter. “Tell us how you really feel, Guerin.”

“I’m willing to go on a little faith, here,” Isobel says, somewhat uncertainly. Michael’s pretty sure it’s only because she’s been in Alex’s head and knows exactly how he feels about this situation.

“If you think he can be trusted,” Michael offers, “I’ll go along with it. But I’d still like something in the way of insurance.”

“You could always …” Alex pauses, then smirks at Isobel, “go into his head and convince him that if he tries to betray us his brain will fry. Like, remotely.”

Isobel waves a finger in his face, “You, sir, are a diabolical genius. Michael?”

He shrugs, “If you think it’s a good idea. But I wanna threaten him too.”

“The more the merrier,” Alex says.

He looks like a weight has lifted off of him, or at least lessened. Michael isn’t entirely sure this is a good idea, but he can’t deny how much it must mean to Alex. But then, that also means that if things go poorly, Alex is the one who will be the most hurt by it. He quickly adds that fact to the speech he’s preparing.

Michael decides to wait until Flint is just about to leave to deliver his threat. Isobel makes hers right away, and though Michael can’t actually hear or see what goes on, he takes satisfaction in the way Flint’s face freezes in terror when she enters his mind. And in the fact that it takes quite a few minutes for him to compose himself when she’s done. Kyle, Liz and Maria watch him coldly as he makes his way out of the bunker. He’s probably not particularly worried about them, but they make their point anyway. Outside, the brothers say their goodbye, knowing that at some point they’re going to have a real conversation about, well, everything. They both agree to alert the other of anything suspicious their father or remaining brothers do. Alex goes back into the bunker and leaves Michael to it.

He doesn’t get the chance.

“Do you love my brother?” Flint asks, standing in front of his car.

Michael glares at him, “That’s none of your business.”

“He’s my brother,” Flint counters.

“Yeah, you’re a _great_ brother,” Michael says.

“It doesn’t matter, he’s still my brother. Do you love him or not?”

“Yes,” Michael admits. He’s surprised to hear himself actually say it out loud. He hasn’t since his talk with Isobel months ago, the same day Max died.

Flint nods, “Good.” He pulls open the door to his car, then stops and turns back around, “Can you kill a person from the inside out? Like, could you pop their lungs? Or crush their heart, or something?”

“Uh, in theory,” Michael says, confused as to how his plans of threatening the man turned into this. He tries to turn it around, “ _I’ve_ never killed anyone, that’s _your_ thing.”

Flint ignores his comment, “Alex ever mention a guy named Trevor?”

Now Michael understands where the conversation is going and suddenly feels an odd connection to Flint Manes, “He met up with him a few weeks ago. Doesn’t really like to talk about it.”

There’s a fury in Flint that makes him resemble Jesse, except this time Michael can fully support it, “Had a feeling he’d talked to him recently. I’m not in position to ask you for a favor, but can I?”

“Go ahead.”

“Trevor Teave ever comes around Alex again, just fucking kill him. Painfully.”

“You can count on that,” Michael promises, and knows that for all the bad blood that will never leave them, this time he and Flint are on the same page.


	11. over and over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael makes a desperate move to get Alex out of a dangerous situation and possibly rekindle their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse for posting late lol I'm sorry
> 
> Another Before chapter, warnings for references to domestic violence and a lot of angst.

“Leave him.”

Alex sighs, “Guerin,”

“I’m serious,” Michael says. “Leave him, Alex. Ditch his sorry ass.”

He’s taking a huge risk in being so forward. Pushing so hard. Alex always resists when someone is actively trying to help him with anything. But they haven’t spoken properly in almost three months. Michael had to practically kidnap Alex just to get him alone so they can even have this conversation. He might not get another chance and if he can’t convince him now, he never will.

“I can’t do that,” Alex replies.

“Why not?” Michael asks. “Is he threatening you? Blackmail?”

Alex shakes his head, “No.”

“Then leave him!” Michael exclaims. “He treats you like shit, Alex.”

“That’s not true.”

Michael scoffs, “Oh, really? So, he doesn’t talk down to you all the time? Doesn’t touch you when you clearly don’t want him to? Doesn’t fucking dictate every fucking thing you do?”

“It’s not like that,” Alex insists. “I know he seems ...he’s hard to get along with sometimes. But he’s not that bad.”

“That’s not what you told me before,” Michael says.

“I was upset,” Alex replies. “I wasn’t ...I wasn’t being fair to him. There, there was more to it than what I told you that day.”

“Like what?” Michael asks.

“Like …” Alex hesitates, just another sign of how badly Trevor’s worn him down. Usually he comes up with excuses to avoid his feelings at warp speed. “I ...can be really stubborn sometimes.”

Michael shrugs, “Yeah, no arguments there. So?”

“So, he ...I push people out. I never, I never say things the right way. And, I take everything too seriously.”

“What does any of that have to do with him?” Michael asks.

“He just ...overcompensates for all that,” Alex explains.

“Over ...compensates?”

“You know, everyone needs someone to ...balance them out, right?”

“Balance?” Michael questions. “Is _that_ what you call it?”

“Can we please just go home now?” Alex’s voice is small and Michael can’t take it.

Alex has been all but glued to Trevor’s side for months. When he’s not with the bastard, he’s offering up excuses—each one flimsier than the last—for why he can’t hang out with anyone. He only shows up on his own when it has to do with Project Shepherd or the cover story he came up with to explain what happened to Max and Rosa. And when he does, he’s insistent that they stay focused on work and nothing else. Even trying to remind him that they still have no leads on his stalker doesn’t work; he brushes the concerns aside with comments like _nothing’s happened so far, why would it now?_

Michael hates Trevor more and more every second. Whenever he’s there he does nothing but order Alex around and put him down. It’s unbearable to watch Alex just take it. They’ve all tried to convince Alex to break up with him but he always finds some way to dismiss or excuse Trevor’s behavior. They’ve tried to intimidate Trevor into leaving, but he always reacts with the same amusement he had in Santa Fe. Even Isobel can’t convince him to leave Alex alone; his conviction is too strong and it reminds her too much of Noah’s obsession with Rosa for her to focus clearly. Michael’s even tried calling Flint, whose advice was a disturbingly genuine _kill him, I’ll hide the body._ He has to admit, it’s an extremely tempting idea at this point, now that they’ve discovered that Trevor wants Alex to move out of state with him. For the moment, Alex has only said he has too much work to do in Roswell, but they know it’s only a matter of time before Trevor persuades him into it. And once that happens, Michael isn’t sure they’ll ever be able to convince Alex to leave him.

Desperate and running out of options, Michael concocted a plan. A plan that will either end this nightmare or make everything infinitely worse. Right on brand for one, Michael Guerin. Go big or go home, right?

In hindsight, driving Alex out into the middle of the desert under the pretense of _I found something weird and probably alien, can you help me dig it out?_ probably wasn’t his best idea. It’s taken him a good half an hour to quell Alex’s rage at being tricked and even get to the topic that matters. Now, though, Alex is starting to fall apart and not in the way Michael was hoping for. 

He shakes his head, “No. Not until you give me a real answer.”

“What do you want me to say, Guerin?” Alex asks wearily.

“Tell me why you won’t leave him,” Michael replies. He knows this is in no way the kind of approach he should take. He knows trying to force the issue could backfire. But desperation is overriding his good sense, and he’s gone too far to stop now. “Give me one good _reason_ why you’re with him.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Simplify it.”

“I _tried,_ ” Alex admits. “Over and over, I’ve tried to leave him. But he …he just …I can’t do it.”

“Because he won’t leave you alone!”

“I don't want him to,” Alex says. He's not lying, not entirely, and Michael doesn't know what to make of that.

“What?”

“I don't want him to leave me alone,” Alex repeats. His voice is even smaller as he goes on, “I don't want to _be_ alone.”

“Alex …”

“I thought ...I thought I could do it,” Alex goes on. “I thought I could handle it. Being on my own. I, I wanted to stay away from Trevor. I wanted to be better than that. But …I can’t do it. I’m not strong enough. I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

“Who says you have to be?” Michael asks.

Alex takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, “I spent my whole childhood waiting for the day that some ...amazing guy would show up, and take me away from my father and I could finally forget about everything that happened in that house. Even, even after I enlisted, and after I came back, there was still a part of me that thought maybe …”

Alex turns away, takes a few steps as though putting a few feet between Michael and himself will make it easier to speak. He doesn’t want to have this conversation. Not with anyone, but especially not with Michael. He doesn’t have much choice, though; they’re too far out for him to walk back to town and Michael has made it clear he won’t take him home until he gets an answer. There’s no easy one to give. Nothing he can say that won’t make Michael see how pathetic he is, or worse make him feel guilty about Alex’s choices. And Alex doesn’t want either of those things.

“Maybe what?” Michael asks.

Alex shakes his head, tears in his eyes, “It doesn’t matter what I thought. The fact is, it’s not gonna happen.” 

Michael takes a step forward, reaches out and touches Alex’s back lightly, “ _What’s_ not gonna happen, Alex?”

Alex turns around and swats his hand away, “ _Any_ of it! Okay? There’s, there’s _no_ guy! He’s _not coming!_ There’s _no_ prince charming. There’s no true love, no happily ever after. Not for me. This, this is _it_ for me, Guerin. I _know_ Trevor isn’t a good person, but he ...it’s him or nothing. He’s the best I can do.”

“He is _not_ the best you can do!” Michael snaps. He wants to reach out and grab him, hold him, wipe away the tears that are sliding down his face, but he knows he’ll only upset Alex further if he tries.

“I’m a mess, Guerin. You know that. Hell, you know that better than anyone. I’m not a good person. I am weak, and I am a coward, and I run when things get hard. I’m impossible to deal with. I come from a family of _literal murderers._ I have to take a thousand pills to keep myself from having panic attacks and screaming myself awake at night. Oh, and I have one fucking leg. Who the hell else is ever gonna put up with me?”

“Put up with you? Is that what he does? He _puts up_ with you?”

“What else would he do, Guerin? Love me? That’s impossible, my own parents don’t even do that.”

“ _I_ do!”

“Stop—”

“I _do!_ I _love_ you, Alex. I _love you,”_ Michael declares. 

“Don’t do that. Don’t go thinking you have to _save_ me because you feel guilty, it’s not your fault I’m like this. And that’s not fair to Maria.”

“Guilt has nothing to do with it, Alex, I’m telling you the truth. And Maria and I broke up months ago,” Michael says. “I know you know that. I _know_ she told you.”

Alex nods, “Yeah, she told me. We talked all about it. So what? You’re still in love, the both of you.”

“No, we’re not,” Michael protests. “We love each other like _friends,_ Alex, nothing else.”

“Oh come _on,_ Guerin. You expect me to believe that? With the way you two look at each other? You’d be back together already if you didn’t think you owed me something. But you _don’t._ You don’t owe me anything, Guerin, either of you.”

“Bullshit. We _both_ owe you for what we did. I owe you the fucking moon for what I did. But that’s _not_ what this is about, Alex. I love you. I always have. I know I hurt you, and you don’t have to forgive me and you don’t have to love me back but _goddamnit_ I can’t let you stay with _him._ ”

Alex flinches like he’s been hit, “You think I don’t love you?”

“That’s not what I—”

“I have never _not_ loved you, Guerin. How could you think …I am trying to stay _out of your way_ so you can move on like you _wanted_ me to. I’m _trying_ to be a good friend and _let you go,_ even when it’s _killing_ me, and you think I _don’t love you?_ ”

“That’s not what I said.”

Alex gestures as if the words are still in the air between them, “That’s exactly what you just said!”

“I didn’t _mean it_ like that,” Michael insists.

“Then what?”

Michael hesitates, trying to find the words. He doesn’t know how to say what he means without giving Alex the wrong idea. Without pushing him further into Trevor’s twisted embrace. He wishes he was just a little more like Max, skilled with words and able to say what he actually means so easily. But he has to try. He’s already lost Alex, from the moment he walked into the Wild Pony that day. He can accept that, as much as it hurts. But he will never accept Alex being with Trevor. He’ll die before he lets the parts of Alex’s soul that withstood Jesse Manes be crushed by that monster.

“I don’t expect you to trust me again after I stood you up like that, and left you for your best friend when you were trying to fix things. I was wrong to do that to you, no matter how I upset I was. But I _do_ still love you, Alex. And I want you to be with someone who loves you as much as I do, whether it’s me or not. But it’s _not him._ He doesn’t love you, you know that. You deserve better than that.”

Alex lowers his head, “I don’t.”

Michael takes hold of his face, gently tilts his head back up, “You do. It’s selfish of me to ask you to give me another chance after what I did, I know it is. But I’m doing it anyway. I can be better, I can be the man you deserve if you give me that chance. But if you can’t give _me_ another chance, then please, I’m begging you, Alex, give _yourself_ another chance. Don’t settle for _him._ Don’t settle for some jerk who treats you like he does. _Please._ ”

“Guerin …”

“I’ll help you. I’ll be the best wingman ever. We’ll look online, we’ll go to clubs. I’ll talk to every queer man on the planet until we find one who loves you as much as I do and treats you like you deserve. Fuck, you want fairytale? I’ll even make sure prince charming has to fight a dragon and rescue you from a castle tower, how’s that?”

“You’re not funny,” Alex says, half-laughing and half-crying.

Michael presses their foreheads together, “Please don’t give up, Alex. I left you in the hands of a monster once, I’m not making that mistake again.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Alex whispers.

“I’m not doing it again,” Michael says, rather than argue. “Please.”

“I’m scared,” Alex’s voice is so quiet Michael almost doesn’t hear him.

“I know. But you won’t be alone,” Michael assures him. “No matter what happens, you’ll never be alone again, I promise. I won’t let that happen.”

Alex’s hands are trembling as he reaches up, curls his fingers around the front of Michael’s shirt like he’s afraid he’ll vanish if he doesn’t hold onto him, “He’ll hurt you.”

“Let him try,” Michael says. “Valenti and your brother already offered to help me hide the body. On multiple, separate occasions.”

“What, you guys are all friends now?”

“For you? We could be.”

***

Alex is quiet on the drive back. He doesn’t look at Michael, choosing to focus on picking at the gold polish on his nails. Contemplative. Michael would give anything to hear just a few of his thoughts, but he knows he won’t get them even if he asks. Alex doesn’t like to talk about his feelings at the best of times, and right now he has a hell of a lot to sort through. They both do, really. Together and separately, they have a tremendous amount to unpack. It’s not going to happen in the span of one afternoon, but they’ve started. Even if they haven’t actually decided on _what_ exactly they are now and where they stand, they’re more or less on the same page. At the very least, they’re in agreement on the most important thing; Trevor Teave has to go.

He’ll put up a fight, Michael suspects. Given how driven he is to keep Alex under his thumb, he’s obviously not going to just give up now. He’ll try to guilt and manipulate his way back into Alex’s life. He’ll threaten him and harass him. But this time Michael won’t let Alex endure it alone. He’ll be right there with him, reminding him that he doesn’t need Trevor in his life. That he isn’t alone. That he’s loved, through and through.

Getting rid of Trevor will only be the start, though. Michael’s trying to dissect everything Alex said today. Trying to figure out how he could possibly have come to any of those preposterous conclusions. His experiences with his family and Trevor only explain so much. Alex is the strongest person Michael’s ever known, so there must have been more to push him to such despair. Something else that left him so broken. He just has to figure out what. Or more likely, who. And then make that person pay.

In the meantime, he’s going to spend every day reminding Alex that none of it was true. That he’s so much more than what he seems to think of himself. That sure, he’s stubborn as hell, but that’s also what makes him so determined all the time. Yes, he pushes people out, but it’s not his fault his father tortured him into being afraid of his own feelings—as Rosa had put it the day she chewed Michael out after hearing all the sordid details of their breakup. No, he doesn’t always say things the way he wants to, but that most decidedly falls under the category of “Jesse Manes is a War Criminal” as well. And so what if he takes things too seriously? As far as Michael’s concerned, that’s what makes Alex so damn good at handling things none of the rest of them could dream of. Things like disposing of an alien body and creating cover stories so elaborate and yet so simple that no one questions them. The rest of it, though, that’s all a pack of lies. Weak? Cowardly? No, not Alex. Not ever.

“Does everyone know that you were doing this?” Alex asks suddenly.

“Um, Valenti does,” Michael admits awkwardly. He knows how much Alex values his privacy, so he hadn’t told anyone his plan, but Kyle had somehow seemed to know anyway. He hates to admit how well Kyle actually knows him, at least when it comes to Alex. 

“So I don’t have to worry about this whole thing turning into an episode of Intervention?”

Michael smiles a little, “No.”

“Thank fuck, I can’t deal with that kinda thing right now.”

“Then it’s a good thing no one lets Max be in charge of anything anymore. That was his plan.”

“Seriously?”

Michael nods, “Yeah. It was shot down quickly.”

Alex shifts uncomfortably, “You guys ...have all been discussing this?”

“It’s not like we’ve been having weekly ‘How Do We Get Alex to Break Up With That Asshole?’ meetings or anything.”

Alex sighs, “God, you’re a bad liar.”

“I’m sorry,” Michael says.

Alex shakes his head, “No, _I’m_ sorry. I didn’t mean to make anyone worry.”

“Don’t do that. What would you do if Liz or Maria were dating a guy like him?” Michael asks.

“Kill him,” Alex says plainly, looking dead ahead.

Michael’s not entirely sure he’s exaggerating; he sounds exactly like Flint had when he recommended Michael just kill Trevor. He forces an awkward laugh, “Okay, well, you get where we’re coming from then, right?”

“I guess.”

Michael doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just reaches out and takes one of Alex’s hands from his lap. He squeezes it gently, relieved when Alex returns the gesture.

***

Getting rid of Trevor Teave is a lengthy process. Step One—make Alex realize he doesn’t need that son of a bitch in his life—was difficult. Step Two—pack up all the bastard’s shit and get it the hell out of Alex’s cabin—is simpler, though only by comparison to step one. He’s only been in town for three months and yet he’s made himself completely at home. One would easily believe he’s been living in the cabin for years, and that Alex is the newcomer.

His extensive—and expensive—wardrobe has taken over Alex’s dresser, and both the bathroom and the kitchen have been restocked to suit his tastes over Alex’s. There are ashtrays in the kitchen, the living room and the bedroom despite the fact that Alex has never smoked a day in his life. His laptop is in the living room. He’s got two phone chargers; one in the living room and one in the bedroom. He’s got a nice collection of books on the shelves, with the ones Jim Valenti left behind now stored in the closet. There are photographs, exquisitely taken photographs, placed around the cabin. Most of them are of Trevor during his time with the Air Force, but others are of him and Alex during their first relationship. 

And then there’s the things he’s given to Alex. Forced on him, really. Expensive jewelry and makeup. New clothes. All lovely, but none of which suit Alex’s tastes in the slightest. It’s all very disturbing, and it takes forever to get it all into boxes. Kyle suggests they just burn it all, something Michael wholeheartedly supports. Alex declines that idea and Max backs him up while also recommending a restraining order. Alex declines that as well.

“Hey, what’s this guy’s deal with gold?” Kyle asks, packing up a box with not only the jewelry that Trevor’s bought for Alex but several of Trevor’s own accessories—watches, cufflinks, tie clips—as well. Most of it is, indeed, gold. He picks up a gold chain attached to a red heart-shaped crystal encased in more gold and looks it over.

Alex snatches it from him, drops it back into the box and says dryly, “Gold has greater power than even the gods.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Kyle asks.

“I have no idea,” Alex replies. He’s lost track of how many times Trevor has uttered that phrase to him. When Alex has asked about it, his only response has ever been to smile secretively and kiss him on the cheek.

“He gave this to you?” Max asks suddenly, examining the gold cuff with the swords and lightning engraved on it.

Alex nods, “Yeah.”

Max gives him an odd look, “Are you sure? You didn’t have this in high school or something?”

Alex half-laughs, “I’m sure. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Max shakes his head and shrugs, “I feel like ...I’ve seen it before.”

“Well, maybe you stumbled across something like it in all your nerd research,” Alex teases.

Max snickers, “Oh, _I’m_ the nerd here? If I remember correctly you used to read Star Wars fanfiction.”

Alex makes an offended noise, “What d’you mean _used to?_ ”

He doesn’t remember telling Max that specifically, but then they _did_ have Basics of Microsoft Office together junior year. Their mutual friendship with Liz made them _just_ close enough to sit next to each other and chat quietly throughout the period. And given how easily they both always finished their assignments, they _did_ usually spend a lot of time online instead of paying attention to their lectures. He distinctly recalls occasionally glancing at Max’s computer, finding him researching for the _great novel_ he’s always been planning to write. It just never occurred to him that Max might’ve taken interest in Alex’s hobbies as well.

“I thought the same thing,” Michael admits. “About the bracelet, I mean. Not the fanfiction.”

“I was wearing in some of the pictures we found,” Alex says. “Maybe you saw it there.”

“Maybe,” Michael replies.

He’s not sure that’s the case, though. Something about the bracelet seems genuinely familiar, not like a minor detail in a few photographs. And it’s not the only thing Trevor has given Alex that stirs some kind of recognition in Michael. The smell of the skin products he makes Alex use is familiar too, though he’s sure he never lived in a home with people who would use anything “black raspberry and vanilla” scented. Now that he knows what the smell is called, he’ll have to remember to ask Isobel if she’s ever used something similar; she _is_ the only person he knows who would.

They’ve just finished packing the last box when they hear a car pulling up to the cabin. Outside they can hear Trevor’s voice questioning the three additional cars in front. Michael reacts faster than anyone else, grabbing his hat—because he’s convinced he looks _cooler_ with it on—and one of the boxes and heads out to start on Step Three; kick Trevor out.

“Someone gonna tell me what the hell’s going on here?” Trevor demands, slamming the door of his mustang and storming toward the cabin.

Michael strolls passed him and makes the trunk and all four doors open at once, “Looks like your boyfriend’s leaving you, mister. You’re being evicted.”

Trevor turns toward him, an amused look on his face, “Is that a fact?”

Michael drops the box unceremoniously into the trunk. Inside it is a crystal tea set that, while beautiful, has no real business being in Alex’s cabin anyway. He doesn’t bother to hide his satisfied smirk at the sound of it breaking from the impact, “That’s right.”

Trevor clicks his tongue, then turns back to the cabin again, “Alex!”

Kyle and Max emerge first, both carrying more boxes. They walk passed Trevor without a word and join Michael. Kyle takes a page from his book and drops the box carelessly into the trunk, while Max places his down, then shoves all three roughly into the back to make more space. Alex steps out last, holding only the gold bracelet.

Trevor clears his throat, “You wanna explain this?”

“It’s like Michael said,” Alex replies, struggling to keep his voice from shaking, “I’m leaving you. I’ve packed up all your things, and I want you to go.”

Michael and Kyle walk back into the cabin to collect more boxes. Max, in uniform, lingers. He leans against his patrol car, hands on his belt buckle, eyes on Trevor. It’s a little ridiculous and Trevor is probably not even remotely intimidated, but his presence is somehow soothing to Alex. Maybe it’s because Max is less emotional about this than Michael and Kyle. He’s all business—all _cop_ —about it, and nothing like the angsty nerd Alex knows him as. Something about that helps Alex slide back into airman mode and detach himself, something he’s never been able to do around Trevor.

“Just like that, huh? Not even a conversation about it?” Trevor asks.

Alex shakes his head, “There’s nothing left for either of us to say.”

“Real big of you to pull a stunt like this will all these strapping gentlemen to back you up,” Trevor comments.

In truth Alex hadn’t wanted so many people to be here for this. Michael was a given, after their heart to heart this afternoon. Kyle had insisted on coming too and in his quest to make up for ditching Alex when they were kids he sometimes has no concept of boundaries, so Alex had had no choice but to let him. And Max, determined to be useful after everything everyone did to resurrect him, had arrived without even bothering to ask. Alex thinks—hopes—that the only reason Liz, Maria, and Rosa aren’t here too is because they know him well enough to realize that any more people will be too much for him to handle. Isobel was likely stubborn about it, and he suspects her mind is lingering in the back of Max’s, just to be safe.

“Wasn’t my idea,” he admits. “But sometimes people just ...show up because they want to.”

Trevor chuckles darkly, glancing briefly at Michael shoving another box into his trunk, “So you’re leaving me for your little cowboy boyfriend, huh? He wag his finger and say ‘here boy’ and get you crawling back?”

“This has nothing to do with him. It’s me. I don’t want you in my life anymore,” Alex says firmly. “I only let you back in to help Max and that’s done. I’d like you to leave now.”

“Right, because it’s always about what _you_ want, isn’t it, Alex?” Trevor taunts. “Always so selfish.”

He reaches out to touch Alex’s face, but Alex snatches his wrist before he can, “I said, I’d like you to leave now.”

“Well, if you insist,” Trevor replies, taking his hand back. He smiles a captivating, disarming smile, and Alex braces himself for the killing blow. Trevor waits until Michael is beside them with another box before saying, “But let me remind you, _I’m_ not the one who _fucked_ your best friend behind your back.”

Michael freezes in place, making Kyle almost crash right into him. He almost doesn’t believe he actually just heard that. Alex hadn’t told him that Trevor knows what happened between Michael and Maria. It’s possible Alex didn’t even know; Trevor had mentioned getting Alex to tell him things while drunk before. And it’s right up his alley to try to use it to drag Alex back to him. The only thing that keeps Michael from obliterating Trevor’s car is the fact that it would keep him around longer. 

“Do _not_ talk about either of them, ever again,” Alex warns. His voice is hard, harder than Michael’s heard in so long and somehow it’s a relief to hear. It’s _his_ Alex’s voice, the man who can do anything, not the man Trevor tried to make him. “Now, get off my property.”

That has Michael working faster, shoving the box he’s holding into the trunk and hurrying into the cabin for the next one. A trail of them float along behind him and one by one they shove themselves into the trunk, the back and passenger seats. Once all of the boxes are crammed inside, Michael wills everything but the driver’s side door to slam shut. Trevor hasn’t taken his eyes off of Alex the entire time and Alex is meeting his gaze head on.

Alex holds out the bracelet, “It’s time for you to go.”

“You’re making a mistake, little bunny,” Trevor replies.

“Don’t call me that,” Alex says. He takes one of Trevor’s hands, closes it around the bracelet, then shoves it into his chest. “Now go.”

“Alright,” Trevor agrees, his amused tone returning. He gets into the car and starts it, then rolls down the window, “Give me a call when he breaks your heart again. I won’t make you beg too long.”

“Fuck you, creep!” Michael calls after him as he drives away. Trashing his car is still so very tempting.

“Let it go, Guerin,” Alex says. “He just wanted to get the last word in.”

“Fuck that guy,” Michael mutters. “Should’ve ripped his tongue out of his head.”

Alex laughs weakly, “Entertaining as that might be, it wouldn’t go well for hiding your secret.”

“He already knows!” Michael exclaims.

“Yeah,” Alex remarks, “but he’d have to go to the hospital and that’s the kind of thing that launches an investigation.”

Kyle shrugs, “Not like anyone would believe him if he said an alien ripped his tongue out with his brain.”

“Guys, please,” Alex sighs, “he’s gone. Can we just ...not talk about it anymore? Ever?”

That’s not going to happen, he knows. They’re going to have to talk about it at some point. But not now; he’s far too exhausted to talk more now. Alex owes them a lot, all of his friends. They didn’t have to go out of their way for him like this, but they did it anyway. And they’re even being so kind as to let him get away with not talking about it for a while longer. He really, really owes them.

***

Michael can’t deny that he’s just a little disappointed that Alex doesn’t immediately move to restart their relationship in the first few days after Trevor leaves. It’s a ridiculous thought, he knows that. Alex needs time to sort his thoughts out, to process. As does Michael. That doesn’t make it suck any less that the one person Alex lets stay the night after giving Trevor the boot is Max. Isobel thinks it’s because Max wasn’t around for the discovery of the mysterious photographs, and Trevor’s endless phone calls and the Santa Fe incident and that makes Alex feel less vulnerable. Liz doesn’t disagree, but also theorizes that it’s because Alex and Max have only ever been _sort of_ friends to begin with. They’re not close enough to share their deepest, darkest feelings and they both know it. But they _are_ close enough—and both have the right personality—to just sit around together in comfortable silence.

Whatever the reason, Alex doesn’t contact anyone for three days, with Max serving as his go between. On the fourth day, he meets with Liz, Maria, and Rosa at the Crashdown for breakfast two hours before it opens. Long before Michael’s usually even out of bed, something they’re all aware of. He tries not to take that personally and tells himself that Alex isn’t stupid enough to repeat Michael’s mistakes; if he _does_ want to get back together with him, he’s going to make absolutely sure he and Maria are on the same page about it. 

The fifth day is a Sunday. Michael wasn’t aware that at some point during Max’s absence, Alex started joining Isobel for brunch—something she always did with Noah on Sunday—in hopes of keeping her from wallowing in bad memories every week. Apparently, with Trevor gone, he’s decided to rekindle that little ritual. Isobel assures Michael it’s because Noah and Trevor—while each a different brand of manipulative scumbag—have given them a common ground that the rest of the group can’t really relate to. Michael can’t deny that, and he’s glad to see the two of them getting along. Isobel also calls their weekly brunches a “bitch thing” and says he’d be miserable if he joined them anyway, and that makes Michael wonder if maybe it’s _not_ such a good thing that they’re getting along.

On the sixth day Alex has lunch with Kyle, something Michael only learns about it when Max mentions it without thinking. Kyle won’t tell him anything about what they talked about, instead insisting he just ask Alex himself. He does, however, assure Michael that he has nothing to worry about. Insists it’s because Alex needs to get himself on steady ground before he’s ready to talk to him. Max agrees, and adds that he suspects Alex is embarrassed about the whole thing.

“We live in a patriarchy that tells us men can’t be abused,” He explains. “Especially not if they’ve been in the military. Add to that the way he grew up and of course he’s ashamed of himself.”

“He shouldn’t be,” Michael says, _“he_ didn’t do anything wrong!”

“I _know_ , Michael,” Max replies. “But you know how he is. Honestly, it’s a miracle you even got him to break up with him in the first place. For now, let’s just be satisfied with that.”

A week after Trevor’s departure, Michael finally receives a message from Alex. Just a text, promising that he’s not avoiding Michael. He just has a lot to think about and hopes Michael understands. He does. He does and he reminds himself that if he wants this to work, they need to take it slow.

He’s relieved, though, when Alex starts texting him at least once a day. Nothing major, idle chit chat only. It takes another week but Alex eventually asks Michael to meet him at the Crashdown for lunch. They don’t talk about them. They don’t talk about Trevor. Or anything of significance, really. But they’re talking, which is more than they’ve done in months. Michael never realized before how nice it is, after everything that’s happened, to be able to talk to Alex about things that _don’t_ matter. It feels normal. It feels right.

They continue texting every day and that Friday night meet up at the Wild Pony. Michael’s on his best behavior, drinking only enough to ease his nerves and switching to coke quickly after. Alex, on the other hand, gets drunk enough to admit that the first time he broke up with Trevor was because of Michael.

“It was the first time he ever hit me,” He explains. “Before that it was ...it was all psychological. But then he hit me and I was bleeding all over the place and ...for some reason, all I could think was ‘Michael would never do this’ and I …”

Michael squeezes his hand but Alex says nothing else about it. And he doesn’t argue when Michael insists on driving him home. He rolls down the window and leans out of it, letting the night air wash over him. It’s gearing up to be a particularly harsh winter, but at the moment the biting cold in the air is just what Alex needs. He even agrees when Michael offers to come back in the morning and drive him to pick up his car.

When they get back to Alex’s car in the morning, Alex confesses that he’d like to try—just for once—to do things the way normal people do them. To go on normal dates and have a normal courtship. Michael is surprised at how thrilled he is at the idea himself, and probably sounds like an overeager teenager when he asks Alex if he wants to go to the movies. He almost dies of relief when Alex accepts before he can die of embarrassment.

They still don’t talk any further about anything serious, but in the safety of the darkness, they hold hands. This time Michael knows not to take it personally when Alex takes his hand back as they return to daylight.

***

“You know what’s great about movies and t.v.?” Alex asks suddenly.

They’re sitting at a table outside a local ice cream shop, taking advantage of one of those precious days when nature forgets that winter’s on its way. It’s been a month since they’ve started trying to have normal person dates, avoiding anything too heavy, and Michael’s never been more confident in any decision he’s ever made. It’s been strange, discovering that while he knows Alex so deeply, so intimately, he actually knows almost nothing about him. He’s learned little things like how he takes his coffee, how he likes his burgers cooked, his favorite ice cream flavor. He’s learned that Alex is humorously superstitious, though he’ll deny it vehemently. He’s very liberal with the word ‘literal’ but usually uses it correctly. And so much more. Things that mean nothing and everything at the same time.

He suspects it’s the same on Alex’s end, or at least Alex is now acting on the knowledge, if he already had it. When he orders food for both of them he only ever needs to be told once to know what things Michael will want and how he’ll want them. He always seems to know what kinds of movies Michael likes to watch. Things have been light, easy. Things are good.

Michael smiles, “What?”

“If this were a t.v. show,” Alex says, “we could have the opening of a conversation, and then it’d cut to commercial and when it came back we’d be done talking.”

“Yeah,” Michael chuckles a little, “that’s probably how it’d go. But you know, if you’re not ready to say whatever’s on your mind—”

“I want to,” Alex interrupts. “I ...you’ve waited long enough, and I want to. I do. It’s just hard to start.”

Michael nods, “I get it. The beginning is—”

“If you say the beginning is a good place to start I’ll kick you,” Alex warns.

Michael grins, “Well it’s true, isn’t it?”

Alex throws him his classic _shut the hell up, Guerin_ look.

“Would you prefer it if … _I_ start?” Michael offers. He certainly has plenty to say himself.

Alex shakes his head, “No, thank you. I need to get this out there before I chicken out.”

“So go for it,” Michael says. “Just take a page out of my book and forget all notions of tact.”

Alex hesitates, then takes a deep breath and decides to do just that, “I hate that you pushed me to break up with Trevor.”

Michael’s face falls, “You, you what?”

“I’m not mad at you or anything. I know it was the right thing to do,” Alex clarifies. “He, he’s an awful person and you were right to get me away from him. And I’m grateful. To all of you, for being here for me like this.”

“So then …”

“I just _hate_ that it came to that in the first place. I promised myself I’d never go back to him and I did it anyway. I never meant to make anyone worry.”

Michael shakes his head, “None of that’s on you, Alex.”

“I keep telling myself that, but I ...I’m so tired, Guerin. I’m tired of being so weak and helpless, and needing literally everyone else to ...to protect me and take care of me …”

“Alex—”

Alex holds out his hand, “Just. Please, let me finish. When I enlisted, I thought it would make me stronger. I thought winning battles would make me into someone who could protect others. But you still had to come to my rescue. Again. It ...it makes me feel like that scared kid in the toolshed again. And that’s no one’s fault but mine, but ...I don’t know, I just hate feeling this way.”

“Fuck,” Michael mutters, “I should’ve killed him. I should’ve just killed that son of a bitch back in Santa Fe.”

“Guerin, you’re not a murderer,” Alex says.

Yeah, well …” 

Michael jabs his plastic spoon angrily into his ice cream, which doesn’t have quite the effect he’s going for. The table shakes slightly and he has to take a few deep breaths to calm himself down before his powers get out of control. They can’t have a conversation if he starts flinging things with his mind.

At the precise moment that Michael thinks he’s got himself under control, the windows of the shops across the street all simultaneously shatter. Alex is out of his chair and running to help people before Michael even realizes what’s happened. The block is on the brink of chaos and yet Alax has taken complete control of the scene, giving orders and keeping everyone calm. Michael just stares for a minute, watching as Alex appoints someone to call the police, instructs people to help one another clear out of the area. They lock eyes for a moment and the look in Alex’s eyes tells him both to get over and start helping, and that he’s in for a very unpleasant conversation the moment they’re alone.

***

“What the _hell_ Guerin?” Alex demands.

The scene of the shattered windows has been cleared of civilians and taken over by the police. Ambulances have come and gone and somehow no one was seriously injured. All in all, despite the terror it caused, the only real damage is to the buildings. Now as they walk toward their cars in the parking lot behind the ice cream shop, Alex is looking for answers that Michael simply doesn’t have.

“It wasn’t me!” Michael swears. “I didn’t do it!”

“So the windows just, what, committed suicide?”

“I have no idea!” Michael exclaims. “Maybe there was a freak ...wind …”

“A freak wind?” Alex questions. “Is that really the best you’ve got?”

“I didn’t do that, Alex, I swear it,” Michael says, stopping suddenly. Hand on Alex’s shoulder, he turns him so they’re looking one another in the eye, “It _wasn’t_ me.”

Alex takes a deep breath and says, “Okay. Fine. You say you didn’t do it, I believe you. But what _did_ happen? That wasn’t _wind._ ”

Michael shakes his head, “I have no idea. I mean, yeah, it, it definitely seemed alien. Totally. But it wasn’t _me._ ”

“Of course not,” they both nearly jump out of their skin at the voice behind them. “No way _you’d_ be able to do that without slicing up everyone on the block in the process. _You_ don’t have the control.”

“This fucking guy,” Michael nearly growls as they turn around. He takes half a step forward, planting himself between Alex and Trevor. “Don’t you ever give up?”

Trevor shakes his head, “No, I don’t.”

“I told you to _leave,_ Trevor,” Alex says, his voice shaking slightly.

“Yes, you did. But you also once told me you’d give me anything if I left,” Trevor pauses, glances at Michael with a mocking smirk, then looks back at Alex, “ _Michael_ here, alone.”

“Fuck is he talking about?” Michael questions.

Alex shakes his head, just as confused, “What?”

“You don’t remember?” Trevor asks. He lights another one of those damn black cigarettes he loves—Michael wants to snatch it from him and shove it right into one of his damn eyes—and laughs, “I can’t say I’m surprised. A little disappointed, maybe, but not surprised.”

“What are you talking—no. No, I don’t care what you have to say, just _leave me alone,_ ” Alex hisses.

“You’re hurting my feelings, little bunny.”

Alex takes a step forward, anger barely restrained, “ _Stop calling me that.”_

“It’s time for you to go, pal,” Michael warns, “unless you wanna lose a lung.”

Trevor laughs, “Well, look who’s starting to get creative. Not _very,_ but it’s a start.”

“Are you even _listening?”_ Alex asks. “You know what, don’t even answer that, I already know you’re not. C’mon, Michael, let’s just go.”

He grabs Michael’s hand, completely uncaring whether or not anyone else is around, and pulls him along to where their cars are parked. His car is one parking space closer than Michael’s truck and he’s reaching for the door when the windows of every car in the lot shatter exactly the way the store windows had. Michael and Alex both grab onto one another, but not a single shard touches either of them.

“What the _fuck?_ ” Michael blurts. Trevor’s earlier statement, that Michael lacked the control to have shattered the windows without hurting anyone, takes on a whole new meaning. Suddenly Michael realizes how specific he’d been when he said it.

Alex stares at Trevor, eyes wide, “You …”

Trevor smirks and shrugs, “Yeah, me.”

“Who the _fuck_ are you?” Michael demands.

“You honestly don’t know, do you?” Trevor realizes. “All this time I thought it was an act, but you _really_ don’t know me.”

“We’ve met before?” Michael asks. “You saying you were on the ship too?”

Trevor laughs, “The ship? Oh, _no._ I’m not some weak little coward like you. I don’t _run away_ from my problems. I came here to get you and bring you _home_.”

“What?” Michael demands. He’s waited his entire life for someone to tell him they were here to bring him home, and _now_ he’s hearing it? _This_ man, this _monster_ is the one to do it?

“Until I realized how _useless_ you are, needing a human to fight your battles for you. You should be ashamed of yourself, Rath.”

Michael feels the something click into place, though he isn’t sure what, “Rath …”

Rath. That’s him. That’s his name. His _birth_ name. The one his mother gave to him. He knows it. Hearing it feels so indisputably _right_ that he knows it’s true.

“You were so damn easy,” Trevor goes on. “It was a disgrace to the family. To _all_ of Antar, really.”

“Antar,” Michael whispers. It sounds as natural as his name had. His home planet. His _home_.

“And yet _Alex_ put up a fight when you couldn’t. Came running to your _rescue_ when you were too weak and stupid to handle things on your own,” Trevor says.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Michael questions.

Trevor shakes his head, “And you don’t even remember it.”

“Halloween,” Alex breathes, and Michael can almost see the gears in his mind clicking into place.

Trevor’s smirk deepens, “Atta boy. I knew _you’d_ remember eventually.”

Michael looks to Alex, then to Trevor, then back to Alex again, “What is he talking about? Halloween? Which Halloween? Alex, who _is_ this guy?”

Alex’s hand is a vice around Michael’s, “Kill him. Kill him, Guerin, just kill him.”

Trevor snickers, “Oh, please, do _try._ It might be entertaining.”

Michael is at too much of a loss to do _anything,_ “What is _going on_ here? _Who are you?”_

“My name is Teave, of House Esmarch, Prince of Antar. I’m your big brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, there it is folks, the Big Reveal! Hope it wasn't too obvious lol
> 
> Anyway, I realize that it's a bit unrealistic how quickly Michael convinces Alex to break up with Trevor, but given everything else that has to happen, I didn't want to dwell too much on it.
> 
> And here's the necklace Kyle was holding:


	12. did you see that

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look at Michael and co's progress as they put together their plan to rescue Alex from Antar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first half of this chapter is pretty Maria-heavy. I know that after That Scene, a lot of people find her very presence to be triggering and what little I've heard of her arc this season (literally the only thing I care about is Alex, so I pretty much just occasionally look at gifs of what he's up to and make up my own context lmao) she's kind of mean to Michael now that they're dating? And used the "alien secret" thing as an excuse to not apologize to Alex? Idk that's what I'm told.  
> Anyway, _this_ version of her hasn't done any of that and _did_ apologize to Alex ( _a lot_ ), so if you're still going to read even knowing she's a major player, I hope you can keep that in mind, but if her being here is too much, I understand. She appears when Michael answers the door, and you can skip to the line "it takes three weeks to plan" and you'll be passed all her scenes.
> 
> Other warnings for this chapter are mostly the same brand of angst as before and some mentions of Jesse Manes.

Star Wars Episode Five: The Empire Strikes Back is, for numerous reasons, the greatest piece of media humans have ever developed. Said reasons include, of course, the brilliant plot twist—still untopped, in Michael’s opinion—and the epic romance between Leia and Han. The tactical genius of Lando Calrissian, however underappreciated and misinterpreted it may be. The absolute gorgeousness of the trio is, honestly, a bisexual dream. Really, everything about it is just great. 

To Michael, though, the most important part of it has always been Luke’s training. He’s tried for years to imitate it. Maybe not the whole running through a swamp with a weird frog guy on his back or doing handstands while he levitates things bit. But the sentiment. The idea that something out there connects all things in the universe, that maybe that’s why he’s able to move objects with his mind, that’s always stuck with him. He’s not childish enough to think he’s actually a Jedi, but still. It’s a nice sentiment.

So he tries to channel Yoda’s advice while he practices. Levitates objects around the room. Stacks books on top of one another. Changes the channel on the television, flicks the lights on and off without using the switch. Pours water from a pitcher into a glass without spilling.

Individually they’re all easy tasks. Trying to do them all at the same time is a little more difficult. A lot more difficult, actually, if the way the books often topple over and the light bulbs frequently burst is anything to go by. He’s making progress, but not enough. Not enough to go another round with someone who’s spent his entire life practicing these powers. Who’s stronger and faster and more creative than him. Who knows every trick in the book. Someone who’s known Michael since he was born, knows his every weakness. Someone who’s holding Alex hostage.

He’d lost that battle hard. It had been painful, in every sense of the word. He wouldn’t have even survived the aftermath had everyone else not been there. Max, barely managing to heal him enough that he wouldn’t die outright from his injuries then and there—before the strain was too much on Max’s body and he’d passed out; at least he didn’t die again. Isobel, suppressing his mind and forcing him to sleep through the worst of the physical pain. Liz and Kyle, taking over with human medicine as Max rested, while Maria and Rosa assisted as best as they could. Max still needing to heal Michael a second time when he finally recovered enough strength to summon his powers again.

All while each of them had their own injuries—physical, mental, emotional—to cope with. Michael had taken the brunt of it but they were all hurt. All bleeding, all broken. Pushing through for one another—and for Michael—despite all the pain. Despite the fact that the most devastating blow of all was the only reason they were even alive to recover. And Michael had been able to do nothing but lay there, too weak and wounded to help anyone even after two healing sessions. Once Kyle had announced his condition was stable enough for them to move him, he’d spent two days sleeping in Max’s guest room, while everyone else alternated between tending to him and one another.

The glass hovering nearby cracks and Michael is barely able to set it down without shattering it. Everything else falls to the floor unceremoniously. He still can’t think of that last moment without some kind of destruction escaping him. If he’s ever going to have a chance at winning the eventual rematch, he’s going to have to keep that under control.

He takes a series of deep breaths to steady himself. He’s in control enough to levitate the cracked glass and drop it into the garbage, at least. Isobel won’t be happy about it. It’s the fifth time he’s broken something in two weeks. He’ll just have to remind her that if she didn’t insist on him practicing in her living room, her things wouldn’t get broken.

Normally she and Max—who’s only now after months of practice just barely able to slide a coin across the table—would be practicing with him, but not today. Today Max and Liz have gone off on an “adventure” to places unknown. Their idea of a date. It’s a weekly thing for them, part of the arrangement they’d somehow fallen into. Everyone, Michael included, has to take at least one day off a week. One day where they’re not focused on all the awful. One day to just ...be.

Of course, that day usually winds up still having something to do with improving the situation, even indirectly. Like today; while Liz is out of town with Max for the day, Isobel is trying to get into her head remotely. She hasn’t been inside Liz’s mind in weeks, so there’s no link already established, and she has no idea where they actually are. Which means she has to concentrate with all her strength to even _find_ Liz’s mind, let alone enter it. At the moment she’s sitting in her backyard trying to do just that. Though she doesn’t quite appreciate all the “feel the force” jokes as much as everyone else does.

He gets up with a groan when he hears a knock at the door. He almost considers unlocking it with his powers, but decides not to risk it in case someone out of the loop is behind it. When he opens it, Maria steps through without being asked.

“Does no one answer their phone anymore?” She demands. “Kyle’s at work so he has an excuse, what’s yours?”

“I didn’t hear it?” Michael offers. “What’s going on?”

“Flint called me today,” she explains. “He wants to know if we can all meet up tonight. He didn’t sound optimistic.”

“Great,” Michael mutters, walking away from her. Flint’s been helping them ever since Alex’s abduction; keeping his father off their backs, getting them Project Shepherd files Alex hadn’t obtained yet. They’re all on the same side now but it’s hard to forget what he’d done in the past, so he only asks to meet with them in person when he has particularly important news, good or bad. And if Maria doesn’t think he sounded optimistic, well ...

“I know,” Maria replies, closing the door behind her and following him through the house. “I don’t know if I wanna know what other shit can go wrong.”

“We got probably bad news, Iz,” Michael calls, stepping into the yard.

Isobel—sitting in a chair with her eyes closed in concentration—doesn’t answer, just keeps muttering to herself in frustration as if Liz isn’t answering her phone.

“Guess Barbie’s not as good at this as she thinks she is,” Maria comments. “But she’s never been as good at anything as she thinks she is, so it’s not surprising.”

“Harsh,” Michael comments. He knows Isobel and Maria still don’t particularly get along, but they’d at least managed to put the animosity aside when Max died. Even more so after Alex was kidnapped. Maria must be particularly upset today if she’s letting old feelings come through again.

“Truth hurts,” Maria shrugs. “I’m not holding back to spare the princess's feelings. If she can’t even find Liz …” Maria doesn’t finish, knowing the rest of her statement will only make all of them feel worse. She knows Isobel is trying her hardest—they all are—but they’re still no closer to getting Alex back. Still, she’s doing her best to keep positive and asks, “How’s Jedi training?”

“I cracked a glass,” Michael confesses. “But it didn’t explode or anything this time.”

Maria nods, “Progress. More than out here, anyway.”

Though she still doesn't reply, Isobel’s face begins to scrunch in displeasure. She’s stopped muttering and now is groaning slightly.

“Iz, you okay?” Michael asks.

She doesn’t answer him. A drop of blood slips from her nose.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Maria says. “Isobel, stop.”

Isobel ignores them. Maria grabs Isobel’s wrist to force her attention onto them. Michael nearly levels the yard in shock when both women scream. They yank their hands apart. Isobel’s eyes pop open and Maria falls backwards into Michael’s arms.

“What the _fuck?_ ” Michael demands, carefully helping Maria regain her balance.

“I ...I, I don’t know …” Isobel pants. “Something just ...something just happened …”

“Yeah, _what?_ ” Michael asks.

Maria shakes her head, “I don’t know either. But something felt really _weird_ just now.”

Isobel nods in agreement, “Did you ...did you see that?”

“What did _you_ see?” Maria asks before answering.

“I’m not sure, it was like ...a flash of color or something.”

“What color?” Maria asks cautiously.

“It was kind of an ...amber. Like a deep, rich amber,” Isobel replies.

Maria nods, suddenly very enthusiastic, “Yes! That’s Liz!”

“What?” Michael and Isobel ask together.

“Liz’s aura! That’s what I saw!” Maria exclaims. “And if _you_ saw it, then ...then you found her. You actually _found_ her this time!”

“Her ...aura?” Isobel questions, skeptical despite everything. 

Maria nods, “Exactly. Everyone’s aura has a different color. Liz’s is that nice amber.”

Isobel grimaces, “Are you sure we didn’t just hallucinate?”

“You’re an _alien,_ ” Maria points out. “You’re really still questioning _my_ abilities?”

“She has a point,” Michael says.

Isobel huffs, “Okay, fine, but if _you_ can see a person’s ...aura, why can’t I?”

“Why can’t you and Michael heal people?” Maria asks in return.

“Maybe,” Michael theorizes, “maybe humans actually _do_ have powers too. They’re just ...still evolving them. Maybe in a few hundred years all humans will see auras and stuff.”

“But that doesn’t explain why we both suddenly saw Liz’s aura,” Maria comments. “I don’t see them unless I’m actually looking at the person, and I have to actually concentrate on it, and Isobel doesn’t see them at all.”

“Yeah, that ...that I don’t know,” Michael admits. “Do you think ...you could do it again? Make sure it wasn’t a fluke?”

They look at one another uncertainly. Neither of them actually knows what they’d done a moment ago or if it’ll work again. On the one hand, if it does, it could _mean_ something. What, they’re not sure, but _something._ On the other hand, it could be nothing. And if it’s nothing, it’s just a waste of time. It’s been a year since Alex was kidnapped and no one is sure they can handle another setback.

Even so, Maria pulls up a chair across from Isobel’s and holds out her hand, “I’m game if you are.”

Isobel is more hesitant. This is new. It’s scary. Isobel doesn’t do well with new and scary. She never has, really—she’s prone to panic and meltdowns and blackouts when things go wrong and it’s nothing short of a miracle she held it together that awful night a year ago. Or a testament to how much she’s grown since Liz first came back to town. But anything that could tamper with her mind in any way is still absolutely off limits. No if’s and’s or but’s about it. It’s hard to blame her after Noah.

“For Alex?” Maria whispers.

Isobel exhales, “For Alex.”

They press their palms together and for a moment everyone holds their breath as though there will be some sort of explosion. When nothing happens, both women close their eyes, concentrating. Michael doesn’t really know what on. He doesn’t understand Maria’s power, whatever it is. He’s always just assumed that she’s particularly observant and good at reading body language and emotions. He’s never really considered that there _is_ some validity to it. Which he now realizes is deeply unfair; as she’d just said, he’s an alien. Doubting _her_ powers is sort of hypocritical.

Isobel’s power is a more frustrating mystery to him. She’s the same species as him, his actual blood relative. Her telekinesis is still far weaker than his, and Max’s is laughable. But they have it, both of them. Telekinesis, he’s noticed, is the most common of their powers. All three of them have it now. Noah had it. According to the Project Shepherd files, most of the captive antarans had it. Alex’s kidnapper—Michael’s own goddamn _brother_ —has it.

They all have telekinesis and more. It’s not just Isobel budding new powers lately. Ever since Max returned from the dead, he’s developed his own form of telepathy. It’s limited to those he’s left a handprint on, but he can do more now than just share his emotions with them. He can actually enter their minds and talk to them as long as the mark is there. Influence more than just how they feel, though not by much. And he and Isobel have both discovered a new power that Rosa has dubbed dreamwalking; a fitting name for the power to enter another person’s dreams.

But Michael can’t do any of what they can do. He can’t heal, he can’t control lightning, and he certainly can’t read minds. Can’t influence or control. Can’t leave a handprint. He’s the only one of them with exactly one power and he’s starting to wonder if that means there’s something wrong with him. Or if he’s just weak.

“Are you seeing anything?” He asks, not wanting to go down the self-pity trail again.

Isobel shakes her head, “Nothing.”

“Me neither,” Maria says.

Isobel opens her eyes and looks at Michael, then gasps and pulls her hand away, “Holy shit!”

As Michael looks behind him, expecting danger, Maria flinches and says, “What?”

Isobel looks at her, then back at Michael, “Do _we_ have auras?”

“Yes,” Maria says slowly, trying to keep from smiling.

“And …” Isobel glances between her and Michael again, “is Michael’s aura ...red?”

Maria doesn’t hide her grin anymore, “It _is._ ”

“Okay this is getting weird,” Isobel comments.

“You’re an _alien,_ ” Maria repeats.

“I know!” Isobel exclaims, annoyed now. She glares at Maira, “But I’m _used_ to that weird! This is a _new_ weird! This is ...this is _your_ weird!”

“My weird, right. And _my_ weird is _bad_ weird,” Maria snarks.

“Alright, let’s not do this,” Michael says. He holds out his arms between them, though he doubts they’d actually try to harm one another. “Let’s just try and figure things out. Calmly. Oh my God I sound like Max. Is this what it’s like putting up with _me?_ ”

“Pretty much,” they both reply.

“Thanks, I love you both,” Michael remarks.

“So what d’you think, genius?” Maria asks. “What’s going on here?”

“I ...think we should call Liz,” Michael says.

“It’s her day off,” Isobel argues.

“We could call Kyle,” Maria suggests. “He’s not a researcher but technically a doctor is a scientist, right?”

Though he and Kyle have been trying their best to get along, Michael grimaces, “We don’t need to call Kyle. He’s working anyway.”

“Or,” Isobel says, “we could … _find_ Kyle. I could look for his mind and we’ll see if we can’t go three for three?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Maria replies.

As he watches them, Michael wonders what it must feel like, hopping from mind to mind. Stretching one’s consciousness beyond their own being until they’re in the head of a different person. He’s only ever been on the receiving end, getting messages from Isobel and—in that one, bittersweet moment—his mother. He pushes the memory aside. He has other matters to focus on; not just figuring out what’s going on with Isobel and Maria, but sharpening his own skills. He begins levitating a few rocks around the yard—discreetly, of course—as he waits for the verdict.

Kyle, as it turns out, has a pale blue aura. Rosa’s is a dark shade of yellow. Arturo’s, turquoise. Michael’s not sure what to make of any of it, or how it’s going to help them. But somehow, he thinks it will.

“I think you’re combining your powers, somehow,” he says after they announce that Sheriff Valenti has a pink aura. “Isobel’s has a longer range but Maria’s is more ...specific.”

“It’s like a light,” Isobel says.

“What?” Michael asks.

“When I ...when I want to go into someone’s head and I can see them, it’s easy. It’s like, I just will myself in. But when I need to _find_ someone’s mind, and I don’t already have a connection,” Isobel explains, “it’s like I leave my own body and just ...wander until I find them. Like I’m lost at sea at night; no light, no stars, nothing. I’m just searching around blindly. Hoping instinct will get me there.”

“And now?” Michael questions.

Isobel looks at Maria, then back at him, “I see the auras and they’re like ...what’re those things called? Buoys? It’s not perfect but I have something to guide me.”

“Well, every ship needs a navigator, right? The question is, can we use it?” Maria says. They don’t need her to clarify what for.

There’d been a few reasons behind getting Isobel to expand her telepathy. The first was simply to strengthen it; the stronger it is, the more likely she’ll be able to influence the kinds of people she couldn’t before. Then there’s the way she’d acted as a sort of communication hub for them before. In the past she’d only been able to talk telepathically to one person at a time, and—with the exception of Max—only after she had a firm connection and they were in close range. But if she can find a way to access any of their minds, at any time from any place, she could have them all communicating seamlessly no matter the circumstances. And most importantly, if she can grow her telepathy enough, maybe, just maybe, she’ll be able to contact Alex. Find out what’s happening to him, reassure him that they’re coming to get him. It’s a longshot—lightyears is quite the distance to cover—but they can hope.

“I’m not sure,” Michael admits.

“Okay. Well. Let’s try Liz again,” Maria suggests, holding out her hand.

Isobel hesitates, “I don’t know if I can …”

“Oh come on, Evans, don’t be such a baby,” Maria says. “If you wanna grow this thing you gotta _try._ ”

“Why don’t you try something a little easier?” Michael suggests. “Try Max.”

Maria rolls her eyes, “She can _always_ find Max.”

“But I can’t always get into his head,” Isobel argues. “I can sense him when he’s far away and I can send him a message, but I can’t actually get _into_ his mind.”

Maria shrugs, willing to compromise if it means progress, “Alright fine, Max it is.”

They join hands again, eyes closed as Isobel tries to find Max. 

“Emerald,” Isobel announces after a few minutes.

“Settle down there, princess,” Maria says, “it’s fucking _green._ Honestly. _Emerald._ Think you can get in?”

“Maybe ...he’s there, I can _feel_ him, I just …” Isobel trails off.

“He’s excited,” Maria supplies.

“Yes,” Isobel agrees.

“Oh God,” Michael groans.

“Not like _that,_ perv. He’s just ...happy. They’re having fun,” Maria explains.

“I can almost ...see something,” Isobel says. “Oh, Liz! I see Liz!”

“Her mind?” Michael asks.

Isobel shakes her head, “No, no, through Max. It’s fuzzy, but I can see her through his eyes. She’s kind of dirty— _literally_ dirty, Michael, don’t go there—and ...oh my God. They’re _boxing._ ”

Maria and Isobel open their eyes and both start to laugh. Michael’s not sure what’s so funny, but they’re laughing more than he’s seen either of them in a year. They don’t even notice their hands are still intertwined.

“Someone gonna tell me what’s so funny?” He asks.

“Nothing really,” Maria says. She takes her hand back from Isobel with an awkward smile of apology and goes on, “Liz and Max are just having a good time.”

“He’s been teaching her how to box,” Isobel adds. “So she can defend herself better the next time shit goes down.”

“I didn’t know that,” Michael comments.

“Neither did I,” Isobel replies. “I got that all out of Max’s thoughts just now.”

“Did you see it too, Maria?” Michael asks. “Max’s thoughts?”

“No,” Maria says thoughtfully, “it’s more like I felt his emotions. He’s in a really good mood right now. So in love. He feels ...well, hopeful.”

Michael sighs, “Hopeful, huh?”

That’s a good thing, of course. To feel hope. Michael wants Max and Liz to feel it. He doesn’t want to begrudge them that. If they let go of that hope—any of them—they might as well give up altogether. But some days are harder than others. Despite today’s new development—which they may or may not be able to use—things have been slow of late. It makes it hard for Michael not to feel a little resentment that other people are happy.

Determined not to let himself wander down those dark paths again, Michael excuses himself and returns to his own training. He needs more focus, more control. His brother had wielded his telekinesis so fluidly, an extension of his own body. Infinite sets of invisible hands he could use to reach anywhere, working with the same grace and skill as his own physical hands. Michael has a long way to go before he reaches that kind of control.

That evening, they gather in the Crashdown. Thanks to Maria’s guidance, Isobel had been able to inform Kyle of the meeting telepathically—which, Michael was amused to hear, nearly gave the poor guy a heart attack. The rest of the group was notified by phone, but it’s still a milestone for her abilities.

“What’s the news?” Max asks once everyone is gathered.

Flint shifts, still somewhat uneasy with being allied with aliens, “I found some tech. I don’t know exactly what it is or if it can help Alex, but it’s definitely alien.”

“And the bad news?” Liz asks, knowing full well there’s a ‘but’ involved in this.

“The bad news,” Flint says, “is that it’s in a secure facility.”

“What else is new?” Kyle questions with a roll of his eyes.

“This one’s different,” Flint sighs, shaking his head. “It’s more secluded. Totally underground. Even if the stuff _could_ help, I’m not sure I can get to it. I’ve never been there, I don’t have clearance and I don’t even know how many men are there. I’d be going in totally blind.”

Michael turns toward Maria and Isobel, who share a look.

“My oh my,” Maria comments, “how the universe works in mysterious ways.”

Flint shakes his head, “What?”

Isobel smirks, “We may have a solution.”

***

It takes three weeks to plan the infiltration. Three weeks of Isobel and Maria practicing their shared talent before they can stand outside of a building and determine the number and locations of the people within. Three weeks of Max practicing his telepathy so he can read the thoughts of people he hasn’t marked; he can’t influence them or communicate at all, but at least he can hear them. Three weeks of Liz, Kyle and Rosa—under Flint’s guidance—practicing with the surveillance equipment that Alex had secured when he took control of the first Project Shepherd bunker from his father until they have a general idea of how it works. Three weeks of Michael continuing on as he has, struggling to find greater precision and control with his telekinesis.

Three weeks of preparation, and it’s over almost before it begins. Max—disguised in one of Alex’s old uniforms—accompanies Flint into the facility. They use false credentials and Isobel’s influence to get in, and Max has grown his powers enough to short out the cameras discreetly. Isobel and Maria keep track of the people inside, with help from Liz, Kyle and Rosa on the surveillance equipment. Max, having marked everyone before they went in, takes some of the burden off of Isobel by keeping them all in contact with one another. And Michael ...does nothing.

On paper, his job is to guard Isobel and Maria and be ready to drive away quickly if anything goes wrong. But nothing does. Max and Flint disappear into the creepy facility for almost an hour, and Max continuously assures them all that it’s going to plan. With Maria bolstering her ability and Max as her conduit, Isobel influences the officer in charge to hand over the alien tech Flint had found without question. Erased their memories of Max and Flint’s visit. Then, the two emerge again. They get into Flint’s van where Michael is waiting with Isobel and Maria, and Flint instructs Michael to drive away. Not too fast, he warns, look casual.

And that’s it. They make it back to town safely, all of them. Michael keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something to go horribly wrong. But nothing happens. Soldiers don’t storm the bunker once they’re back, the box doesn’t explode. They inspect the contents carefully and none of it appears to be bugged. Somehow, everything has gone according to plan.

Michael knows he should be happy about that. They did what they needed to do, got what they needed to get, and no one was hurt. But it just makes him feel more useless than ever. He hadn’t actually done _anything_ to help. The whole plan could have gone on without him. And as he examines their prizes—which he doesn’t exactly recognize, but are definitely familiar to him—he can’t help but wonder how their other ordeals would have turned out had he not been involved.

He was the one who freed Noah, a move that nearly got himself and Liz killed and Max and Isobel kidnapped. He was the one who’d set off the alarms at Caulfield and triggered the explosion that killed his mother and so many others. He’d triggered the alarms at the last facility too, almost gotten himself and Alex captured. Just how many things have gone wrong specifically because of him?

“So what d’you think?” Flint asks, entering the small work room they’ve set up for Michael in the Project Shepherd bunker.

“Definitely alien,” Michael replies, keeping his eyes on the table. “Most of it looks like it might’ve been parts from the ship’s engine or something.”

Flint sits across from Michael at the small table, looking over the items arranged neatly on it, “Will they be useful?”

“I don’t know yet,” Michael admits. “Could be.”

Flint picks up something that looks like a cog and looks at it, then asks, “So why’re you so down?”

Michael looks up at him, “Why the hell d’you _think_ I’m feeling down?”

Flint shrugs, “I mean besides the obvious. I know I don’t know you that well, but you didn’t seem this lousy the last few weeks. Were you hoping for something more?”

Michael sighs, “Not really.”

“Then what is it?”

“No offense, Flint,” Michael says, “but we’re not exactly friends.”

“I know,” Flint replies. He sets the cog back down on the table, “tell me anyway. Call it a debriefing.”

“I’m not a soldier,” Michael remarks.

“Any member of the team's not thinking straight and the operation falls apart.”

“I’m not a fucking _soldier,_ ” Michael repeats.

Flint snickers, “No shit you’re not. If you were you’d—”

“I didn’t _do_ anything,” Michael blurts, not wanting to hear whatever Flint is planning to say next.

“Okay?” Flint questions. “I didn’t accuse you of anything.”

“No, I mean today. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t _help,_ ” Michael says.

“You helped,” Flint says.

Michael shakes his head, “Not really.”

Flint rolls his eyes, “Oh, I see where this is going. You watch too many movies, Guerin. Today went perfectly. Your job was to keep watch and drive. You did both just fine. The fact that nothing went wrong and you didn’t _need_ to do anything _else_ is a _good_ thing.”

“I feel useless,” Michael admits.

“You’re not a soldier,” Flint echoes. “You’re too impulsive to handle this kind of thing; you’re a genius in the lab but you stop thinking when you get emotional. And that’s fine, as long as you hang back and don’t interfere with anything. Just like I shouldn’t interfere with whatever the hell you and Liz do. Different people are cut out for different jobs.”

“Alex would never sit around while—”

“ _Alex,_ ” Flint stops him, “would do what he was most needed for. If that meant going in, he’d go in. If that meant standing by, he’d stand by.” Flint pauses, hesitant, then finishes with, “And if that meant surrendering to a monster so other people would be safe, that’s what he’d do.”

“I …”

“Thinking has always been Alex’s best asset. It’s what made him suited for Intelligence,” Flint says. “Our father never really appreciated that about him, but fact is, Alex gets it from him.”

“Alex is _nothing_ like your dad,” Michael insists.

“Sure he is,” Flint counters, almost flippant. “He wouldn’t have survived growing up if he wasn’t. That doesn’t mean he has to use those gifts the way our dad does.”

“Hard to imagine anything from that man being a _gift._ ” Michael mutters.

“Alex is cunning, he’s resourceful. He knows how to play people, too; who’s gonna respond to threats and who he has to charm instead. He’s got all the same skills as our dad does, difference is he’s chosen to use them for good. For you and your friends.”

“So the apple _can_ fall far from the tree,” Michael comments.

“We don’t get to choose where we start out in this life. It’s about what you do with the hand you’re dealt,” Flint replies.

“Wow, that’s ...actually really deep, man.”

“Thanks,” Flint laughs, “it’s from a video game.”

Taken aback, Michael laughs too, “Fuck you. Idiot.”

“Hey, it’s still true,” Flint says.

“Guess so …” Michael sighs. It’s a strange feeling to be having this conversation—any conversation, really—with Flint. But somehow it’s actually ...nice. Like he’s starting to see the brother Alex loves so dearly. So he takes a chance and confesses, “I used to give Alex shit over your family. All the time.”

“That’s pretty low,” Flint states. “Alex has _always_ been the black sheep, before he even met you.”

Michael nods, “I know. He was always protecting me, all the time, even when I didn’t know it. And then I couldn’t protect him from _my_ family.”

“Trev- _Teave_ is insidious. You never had a chance. I should’ve known, years ago, that he wasn’t just an ordinary scumbag. I should’ve fucking _killed_ him that first time.”

“You couldn’t have,” Michael points out. “He’d have gotten the drop on you if you’d tried. Maybe if you’d _known_ he’s Antaran but …”

He’s only known the name of his species—his _people_ —for a year, but the word still feels so natural rolling off his tongue. Like he’d grown up saying it. Which, he supposes, was true until he was seven.

“I’d probably have had to expose him to Alex. And I don’t know if Alex could’ve survived finding out back then. Before knowing about you. It would’ve shaped his perception and after that I don’t think he could’ve handled finding out you’re an alien too.”

“But he’d be here,” Michael comments.

“Yeah, there’s that,” Flint agrees. He stands, “But if there’s one thing I learned in the couple months Alex and I had before this happened, it’s that you can’t hold on to what you should’ve done. Just gotta keep moving on.”

Michael watches him walk toward the door, then calls him back, “What did he have?”

Flint turns, a questioning look on his face, “What did who have?”

“Alex said …he uh, he was convinced your dad was blackmailing you. Was he?”

Flint tenses, exhales deeply in a way that makes Michael almost think he’s looking at Alex for an instant, then pulls out his phone. He scrolls through it for a moment before setting it down on the table for Michael to see a picture of a brown skinned woman in a green hijab. It’s obviously a personal moment, based on the goofy face she’s making at the camera.

“Her name’s Kamala,” Flint explains. “I met her …seven years ago.”

“Overseas?” Michael asks, picking up the phone to get a better look at the picture.

Flint snickers, “In _Michigan._ Where she was _born._ We hit it off, but with my dad being …well, you know. I thought once my service was up I could cut him out of my life for good. She and I could actually have a life together.”

“What happened?”

“Like I said, she was born here, but people like my dad …the rules don’t seem to apply to them, do they?”

Michael nods, “He threatened her.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time a citizen was detained by _accident,_ ” Flint says. “He kept reminding me about all the other _accidents_ that can happen while they’re in custody.”

“Where is she now?” Michael asks.

“Lansing,” Flint answers. “Been three years since we’ve spoken but …if her instagram is anything to go on, she’s doing good. Seeing some guy. She looks happy.” 

Michael rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, “I’m sorry.”

“You know, Alex is the only one in my family I ever really wanted to introduce her to,” Flint admits.

Optimism isn’t Michael’s specialty, but he’s trying his best, “Maybe …you still can.”

“Let’s uh, let’s focus on bringing Alex home first, huh?” Flint replies, taking his phone back.

Michael nods, “Yeah.”

As Flint pockets his phone Michael stands as well and reaches out to shake his hand. There will always be a part of him that resents Flint, but if there’s one thing Michael understands it’s doing something truly horrible to protect a loved one. The decade of hell he’d allowed the Ortechos to suffer through to protect Isobel speaks to that. And for his part, though he still seems uneasy about them, Flint hasn’t once put blame on Michael or Max and Isobel for Alex’s kidnapping. Even though it was Michael’s own brother who stole him, Flint doesn’t seem to hold that part against any of them. Hasn’t even suggested that it proves his original belief that aliens are evil right. Perhaps, Michael thinks, that’s because he understands all too well what it’s like to be bound by blood to a monster.

Once Flint has left, Michael sits back down at the table and looks over the procured items again. Though most of them seem relatively mundane—he really is sure they’re mostly just gears from the engine—there is one that stands out. It’s a sphere, about the size of a baseball. Turquoise in color and surrounded by a gold ring with antaran symbols etched into it. There are two red gems embedded in the ring on opposite sides. He can’t read the symbols on it any more than he can read the writing on the console, but ever since his battle with Teave he almost feels like he can. They’re familiar now in a way they hadn’t been before. Try as he might, though, he still can’t make sense of them.

He picks the sphere up and turns it over in his hands, examining the details on it. As he does, an image flits through his mind. It’s fuzzy, like a far-off memory or a scattered dream. A woman’s hands—delicate, beautiful hands—holding the sphere. On her left wrist she wears the gold cuff Teave had given to Alex. The one bearing the emblem Michael now knows to be his family crest. Her thumbs press into the two gems on either side of the gold ring and the image fades from his mind. His own hands shaking, Michael imitates her movement, unsure what to expect. In hindsight, he supposes he should have been expecting the turquoise sphere to start glowing as it does, but he still falls backwards to the floor and drops it. There’s a soft crackling sound, almost like static, before the sphere begins to project an image above it.

The image moves in and out of focus for a few seconds and Michael fears he’s broken it. And then it clears, and Michael, already in tears at the sight, finds himself looking up at his mother. He’s only ever seen her as an elderly captive—drained and brittle and worn down—and in the tiny spec of a memory—where she’d been dressed in institutionally plain white garb—he’d shared with her in her final moment. But here, in this projection, dressed in an elegant blue gown that looks like something out of a high fantasy story, she looks like the royalty he’s learned she was. She looks strong, bold. Her hands clasped in front of her chest as though to calm her nerves, she clears her throat and begins to speak, and although her words are in a language he hasn’t heard in decades, Michael understands them as clear as day.

“My name is Mara, Queen of Antar. A terrible, horrible tragedy has befallen our planet. The blame lies on us all; I freely admit my own role in creating this nightmare. There are some of us who hope to end it quickly, to bring peace and atone for the sins of the past. But if you are watching, Rath,” she pauses, steadying herself as tears form in her eyes.

Michael is grateful for the pause, as it gives him a moment to focus again after a sob tears through him. His brother telling him his name was all it took to know it was real. Max and Isobel—his cousins in blood but siblings in heart—saying it felt just as right. But to finally, _finally_ hear his mother speak his name makes it truly his at last.

“If you are watching this,” she continues, “then something has gone very, very wrong. And I am so, so _very_ sorry, my son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the "sphere" Michael looks at sounds familiar, it's because I stole the "movie spheres" from Final Fantasy X lol
> 
> The dress his mother wears in the projection:


	13. blackout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex continues trying to readjust to life on Earth while Michael struggles to help him find his way back to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the delay, but today was my younger sister's graduation and, well, we were celebrating lol At 24 she has her damn _Master's_ and I am so proud of her! (proud enough that I must boast about it to strangers on the internet! lol)
> 
> This chapter doesn't really have too much for specific warnings, mostly what you've come to expect at this point.

It’s getting late. Not late enough to cause alarm, but late nonetheless. Michael should have been back from work by now. The fact that he isn’t is starting to make Alex nervous. It shouldn’t—Michael can take care of himself and he doesn’t owe Alex his time—but it does. But then, Alex is always nervous when Michael isn’t around. Michael takes care of him now, and Alex feels lost without him.

Michael never leaves him entirely by himself, of course. There’s always someone there to watch over him, keep him out of trouble. It’s Liz’s turn to babysit today. Michael had dropped Alex off with her early this morning, saying something about extra work today. He still works for Sanders, but he’s also been taking on freelance work. Odd jobs, Alex was told, but he’s been doing more and more of them lately. Which makes sense, seeing as he now has two mouths to feed.

Alex hates that he can’t help. Can’t make any money to lessen some of the financial burden. No, as usual he _is_ the burden. Michael probably had no need to work this hard when Alex was gone. He probably made exactly as much money as he needed, plus enough extra to keep himself comfortable. At least that’s what Alex assumes based on what Michael’s told him of his life nowadays. He’s doing so much better than Alex has ever seen him. More proof that things have been better for everyone with him gone.

It all has him confused. So very, very confused. It’s been almost five months now since they brought him back to Earth and no one has explained why. They still haven’t told him what they need him for. In fact, from what he’s gathered, everything’s fine. Everyone is doing well. Michael and his siblings, the Ortechos, Maria, Kyle. There’s nothing wrong with any of them. Nothing he needs to help them with or save them from. They all seem to be doing better than ever. Although, for the last three weeks they’ve been on high alert. Ever since Max’s announcement. 

That part makes sense. If— _when_ —Teave comes to get him, there will be hell to pay. And they will be the ones to pay it, far more than Alex will. He doesn't know if he can do anything to protect them this time. They _should_ be afraid. Afraid for themselves. But that doesn’t seem to be the problem. They’re worried about _him,_ apparently. They keep telling him that it’s going to be okay. That they'll protect him. They won’t let Teave have him again. Alex doesn’t understand. Don’t they realize that _they’re_ the ones in danger?

They broke the deal. The shaky truce that had saved their lives four years ago. They shattered the agreement, and for what? So they can be stuck dealing with him again? Watch him sit around uselessly? He’s never been so confused. They don’t get anything from having him back. If anything it’s just an inconvenience to them. What’s the _point_ of this? Alex wants so much to ask but he still has no voice. No way to do anything but wait for explanations that he knows now aren’t coming.

“Hey, sweetie,” Liz sits down across from him at the table he’s been at since the Crashdown closed half an hour ago. “Sorry that took so damn long.”

He smiles at her in understanding. She looks worn out now that the cleanup is finally done. He doesn’t blame her. Thanks to Isobel’s _influence,_ he’s told, the hospital decided not to move its research division after all. Liz has been flourishing there over the last four years. Today was supposed to be her day off. She’d made plans for them to spend it watching some of the movies that had come out while he was gone that she thought he’d like. They’d gotten through _Onward_ and _Raya and the Last Dragon_ —Liz curled up against Alex’s side with her head on his shoulder, just like when they were kids—by lunchtime. Rosa joined them after lunch for _Birds of Prey,_ after which she insisted they take a break from watching movies and paint one another’s nails instead. Liz had asked him at least a hundred times if he was really okay with it, reminding him over and over that he didn’t have to if he didn’t want to. Alex didn’t mind; he can’t remember the last time he actually got to take part in selecting his own color, even if black was somewhat predictable from him. 

Afterward came _Black Widow,_ and they were supposed to watch _Thor: Love and Thunder_ next. Instead several people left the Crashdown early, feeling sick—including poor Arturo himself—right around the dinner rush. And with Rosa taking classes in the evening, Liz had been the only one left to step in and help. He’d denied her offer to let him sit in the diner, not wanting to take up a seat that a customer could be using. Liz had left the T.V. on for him, but he felt wrong watching without her, so he didn’t pay it too much attention. She’d still managed to check in on him several times an hour while he waited in her living room. 

“You look a little pale, Alex,” she comments, reaching over to touch his face as though checking his temperature, “are you feeling okay?”

He nods. He shouldn’t lie but if he admits he isn’t okay then she’ll worry. She’ll ask him question after question trying to figure out what’s upsetting him. He can’t very well admit that he’s upset about what they’ve done and what consequences they’ll soon face. Not when they’re so happy about it. And he certainly can’t admit that he’s worried about where Michael might be right now. He’ll come back to get Alex if and when he’s ready.

Liz doesn’t look convinced, “Are you hungry?”

He shakes his head. He’s never hungry on Liz Days; between all three Ortechos and some of the Crashdown staff he’s known since he was a child, there’s almost always someone feeding him. Not that he goes hungry on other days. Everyone gives him an adequate food supply. More than adequate, really. He hadn’t been _denied_ food on Antar—at least not after he’d learned to behave properly—but it’s different here. He’s given not just three meals but snacks throughout the day, offered bits of this and that to pick on. He’s expected to eat whenever he gets hungry, not just at designated times. They ask him what he wants to eat and they give him plenty of time to eat it.

Michael has even given him _orders_ to eat between meals, even if no one tells him to. _If you get hungry, you gotta eat something,_ he’d said. Alex wants to follow the order—to be good for Michael—but he doesn’t know where the boundaries are. He wasn’t allowed to pick out his own food on Antar; his husband made his plates for him and he was simply expected to eat what he was given. On Earth, he doesn’t know what he’s allowed to take and what’s only for Michael. The last thing he wants is to cross any lines, but he doesn’t want to disappoint Michael, either.

He’d faced quite the dilemma over not knowing his exact place, two months after coming back. He’d woken up to complete silence, unusual as Michael is usually awake before him nowadays. Unwilling to risk waking him, he’d waited quietly in bed for a good hour before he started to suspect something was wrong. Since Michael had told him he could get out of bed whether Michael was awake or not, he’d built up all of his courage and ventured into the living room. It was empty. Michael wasn’t there. There was silence outside the cabin. His keys, his shoes and his hat were all missing. Michael was gone. Alex hates remembering how his first shameful, selfish, spoiled thought upon realizing he was completely alone had been _who’s going to take care of me?_ He’d sat down on his usual spot on the couch and waited, trying not to panic and ignoring the growling of his stomach, for almost two hours before he finally started to break down. 

He’ll never forgive himself for the way Kyle eventually found him huddled in on himself and crying, sure that Michael was never coming back for him. Kyle had held him, assured him that everything was okay, told him that it was all Wyatt Long’s fault, promised him that Michael would be home soon. He’d made him his breakfast and kept on holding him, despite his own obvious exhaustion after a long shift at the hospital. He had never let go of Alex the entire time, even when Michael came running frantically into the cabin. Kyle had scolded Michael—calling him irresponsible and telling him he should’ve known better—and Alex had felt even more guilty. More than anything Alex hates how _Michael_ had apologized to _him_ for the whole thing. Michael didn’t do anything wrong. Alex was the one who overreacted, the one who should've trusted him. 

“You’re probably so sick of hearing that by now,” Liz laughs. “I know I would be. I guess that’s just like, human default, isn’t it? Oh, something isn’t right, here have some food.”

Alex offers her an amused smile. He wishes he could tell her it’s not just a human thing. Antarans, at least outside the strict etiquette of the Court, are just as quick to offer something to eat in times of trouble as humans are.

Liz lays her hands on the table, palms up, inviting Alex to rest his hands in hers. He does so, and she rubs her thumbs gently over the back of his hands. He’s not sure why she likes to do this, but he’ll never complain. He's not frigid like he was before; any touch is welcome now, especially from the people he’s missed for so long. What exactly _she_ gets out of it, though, he’s not sure.

She sighs, “So Max and I started planning the wedding a few days ago, and we have already had our first disagreement. In trying to pick a _date,_ of all things. He wants spring and I want winter. I keep telling him winter colors will look nicer but he’s insisting spring is more romantic.”

He’s surprised to hear that Liz and Max haven’t started planning until now. He can’t believe Isobel would even allow that. They’ve been engaged for over a year, according to Michael. He didn’t think they had _everything_ planned out already, but he’d just assumed they had at least started. But now that he really thinks about it, other than showing him her ring—a pink, heart-shaped stone on a gold band—this is the first time Liz has talked about her engagement at all. What could they have been waiting for all this time?

“He keeps talking about how it was spring when we met and when we finally got together, and how the wedding will be a new chapter for us just like spring represents new beginnings. I get his point, but I saw these bridesmaid dresses on _Say Yes to the Dress_ once that were like, this pale blue kind of color, and I just _loved_ it. The dresses were ugly but the _color_ was gorgeous. Oh, kind of like your tux from senior prom, remember that color?”

Alex nods. Their senior prom was a total disaster for him, and a major stepping stone to him eventually ruining the lives of everyone who matters. But he remembers it—and his suit—well enough. He’d almost considered not going after his father told him it made him look like an escort, though _he’d_ said it far less politely than that.

“It’s like that,” Liz goes on, “but a little lighter. And I guess it _could_ work for spring, but I don’t know. I just saw it and I immediately thought winter. Okay, specifically I thought of Elsa from _Frozen_ but don't tell anyone that, okay?”

He doesn’t know if she’s honestly forgotten that he physically cannot tell anyone or if she’s just trying to create a sense of normalcy, but he nods anyway. 

“Oh, God,” She groans, “I sound like Isobel now, don’t I? I’m spending way too much time with her. Anyway, am I being unreasonable? I know if I ask Rosa or Maria they’ll be like _you’re the bride, it’s up to you!_ And I’m sure Isobel has a binder prepared with options for _every_ season—it may take all of us to hold her back and not let this get out of hand. But you’ve never held back when I’m wrong, so ...am I?”

Alex doesn’t know how to answer her. He hadn’t had a say in his own wedding; a grand affair that would put anything even Isobel could plan to shame. In fact, if he’d had his say at the time there wouldn’t have _been_ a wedding. He’d still been stubborn and childish back then. Still learning his place. Sometimes he’s amazed his husband was as patient with him as he’d been.

Things are different for Liz and Max. Theirs is an equal partnership. Whatever decision they come to will take both of their points of view into account. He certainly understands Max’s point; there’s something romantic about that consistency. But he knows how Liz feels, connecting with something so deeply it’s hard to let it go. Even if he could speak, he wouldn’t be sure what advice he could really give her, so he shrugs slightly, hoping his lack of a real answer doesn’t offend her.

She doesn’t seem bothered, though, “I guess it’s one of those things he and I are gonna have to feel our way through. Remember how we used to play wedding when we were kids?”

He nods. Things had been easier then, in the days when a wedding was something out of a fairytale. Before he realized that the other boys at school _didn’t_ want to marry the handsome prince. He’d learned quickly to keep the fact that _he_ did to himself. Strangely enough, for once in his life he’d gotten what he wanted; he’s married to a handsome prince. It’s nothing like he’d imagined in his childhood, but then, what ever is?

Liz carries on, talking about some of her ideas for the wedding. She asks his opinion on everything—in yes or no format, naturally—and talks about how she’s definitely going to need his help when she picks her dress and tries out cake samples. She tells him about her job, her research, and stories about her coworkers. She talks—as always—about how proud she is of Rosa and how thankful she is that Alex’s cover story worked so well and gave her her second chance. He’s not sure why she keeps thanking him for that. They all do, in fact. It’s not as though he really did anything beyond coming up with the story; _they’re_ the ones who did all the real work while he was busy refusing to cooperate with Teave’s training. 

Almost another hour goes by before Michael arrives and Alex has to work extra hard not to rush to him in relief. Somehow, he thinks he almost misses him more when he’s gone for only a few hours a day than he did when they were lightyears apart. He supposes it’s just another reminder of why he needs someone else to be in charge of him. Even in his thoughts he can’t get anything right.

It’s a struggle to wait while Michael and Liz talk in hushed voices, but he manages as always. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy spending time with Liz—or any of the others—but everything is so much better when he’s with Michael. Probably because Michael’s the one in charge of him. Or because Alex’s weak and selfish mind still can’t let go of his feelings for him. Feelings that almost destroyed Michael more than once.

Of all the things that have confused him since coming back to Earth, Michael is the greatest mystery. He’s gentler with Alex than he’s ever been, even more so than when they were teenagers. He worries and fusses over him. He rarely gives Alex orders and when he does, they’re reluctant and always have something to do with Alex’s wellbeing. He never uses his authority for his own gain, always asks Alex for his opinion. He’s kind and soft and compassionate. He treats him like something precious. He doesn’t even seem to be mad at Alex, despite everything that he did.

Alex doesn’t know what to make of that. It could mean that Michael is simply such a good person that he’s found it in himself to forgive Alex, even after all he’s done. But it could also mean that Michael’s mind still isn’t his own. That he’s still suffering from lingering influences making him feel things that aren’t real. Alex doesn’t like to think that, though. He doesn’t want to think about Michael’s decisions being made by someone else. And Isobel promised she’d free him. There’s no way she hasn’t done so by now.

Whatever the reason, Michael places a tender hand on his shoulder—just as he always does these days—and says, “Sorry I’m late, Alex.”

Just happy he’s come back at all, Alex smiles.

Michael sighs, “Ready to go home?”

That question is easier to answer than most others. Alex has learned that more often than not, when Michael asks him that it means he himself is ready to go. And right now, both Michael and Liz look ready for bed. He nods.

“Okay, let’s go then.”

Alex stands and Liz hugs him tight, giving him a kiss on the cheek before he follows Michael out the door. It’s taken him some time to get used to using his Earth prosthetic again, but he can’t deny it’s more comfortable than the one from Antar. Medicine is one way humans have antarans beat entirely. The people of Antar depend far too much on their healers and never bothered to develop anything resembling a medical system. Other than a few herbal remedies, there are no treatments for illness or injury for those unable to reach a healer.

“I talked to Flint today,” Michael says on the drive to the cabin.

Alex tenses, waits for him to go on. Everyone has been exceedingly patient with him so far. They’ve chalked up his muteness to trauma, which he supposes isn’t _entirely_ untrue. Teave had wanted him quiet; Teave's _enemies_ were the ones who rendered him silent. They tolerate his fear of the dark, leaving a light for him no matter the circumstances. And they’ve accepted his reluctance to be near his brother, despite them having clearly grown much closer to him over the years. He’s their friend now, probably a better friend than Alex had ever been. He knows their patience will run out eventually, and he suspects the Flint issue will be the one to break it.

“He misses you,” Michael continues, his voice careful. “He loves you, Alex. I know ...there’s a lot of shit between you two and I’m not gonna pretend I really understand it. But he asked me to tell you that whatever’s going on in there, he’ll be here when you’re ready.”

Keeping his eyes ahead, Alex nods solemnly. He _is_ ready to see him again. He’s never _not_ been ready. He wants desperately to be able to hug his brother again. It’s entirely irrational, the fear that floods his veins when Flint is around. Alex tries to push through it, but he can’t look at Flint without being gripped by terror. He can almost feel himself being dragged away into the depths of darkness. It’s wrong and cruel of him; he knows he’s not going back to the Dark Room—it doesn’t even exist on Earth—but he can’t help himself.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Michael assures him. “I just thought I should pass on the message like he asked me to.”

Alex sighs softly, grateful for the continued leniency.

It’s after one by the time they reach the cabin. Michael, as always, asks if he wants to go to bed despite being the one who ultimately gets to decide that. When Alex nods Michael takes him into the bedroom, a tender hand on his back. Michael touches him a lot, hands light and cautious, like he’s afraid of hurting him. He kisses him sometimes, too. A quick, chaste peck on the cheek or forehead, never anything more. Anything more would be inappropriate. That doesn’t stop Alex from _wanting_ more.

He tells himself it’s because he’s so used to being touched. Used to having hands on him almost constantly; his husband’s attentions, servants washing and dressing him, members of the Court admiring him. Admiring his clothes, his jewelry, his body, even going so far as to pet him like some pampered animal. He’d resented them all at first, but eventually he’d gotten used to the constant attention and now he can’t go long without physical contact before he starts to feel empty. 

Deep down he knows it’s more than that, though. All of his friends are quick with a hug or a comforting hand nowadays. They all touch him, frequently, comfortably. He appreciates it all, though it’s not the same as it was on Antar; not _enough_ to stave off that hollow feeling. Except when it comes to Michael. Every touch from Michael fills him with a warmth he’d forgotten existed, even living on such a warm planet for so many years. He yearns for that touch even knowing it’s forbidden, and would cast aside all notions of fidelity if Michael wanted him to. Lucky for them both, Michael _doesn’t_ want him to. Doesn’t want _him._

Once they’re in the bedroom he takes a step back as Alex readies himself. He’s not sure why Michael gives him the bed and sleeps on the couch. The cabin and everything in it—bed included—is Michael’s, yet he’s acting like it still belongs to Alex. Acting like a guest in his own home. It doesn’t make any sense but Alex can’t ask him about it. 

“So, um,” Michael says while Alex gets into bed, “I have to work again tomorrow. I know I was just supposed to be at the junkyard for a few hours but I gotta finish up some stuff I didn’t get to today. I’m sorry. Would you be okay staying with Liz again?”

Alex nods. He’s fine staying with Liz again—he’ll stay wherever Michael puts him—but he hopes he’s not bothering her. She probably has better things to do than sit with him all day. 

“Alex,” Michael begins softly, “I uh ...I just ...I’m really sorry.”

Unsure of what he’s sorry _about,_ Alex smiles at him. Surely he’s not apologizing for having to work so much? Not when Alex is the reason he has to in the first place. 

Michael opens his mouth again, closes it, then sighs, “Goodnight, Alex.”

Alex watches him leave the room and switch off the lights with his mind. The only light now comes from the glitter lamp on his dresser. A gift from Flint, Michael said. Exactly like the one he’d given him years ago. It’s a bittersweet gift. It makes Alex happy to know that Flint cares enough to even remember the original, but it hurts knowing he still can’t thank him for it. Still can’t go near him without panicking. He has to try harder, he just has to.

The teddy bear Mimi bought for him while he was in the hospital sits beside his pillow. It’s very generic, just a simple light brown bear with a yellow ribbon with little polka dots on it around its neck. He’s far from the small child she’d been remembering when she bought it, but he’s grateful for the gift nonetheless. Without Sleeping Syrup and his husband’s warm body beside him, it’s hard to fall asleep at night. The bear is the closest he has to a companion since Michael won’t share the bed with him—not that Alex blames him. But he doesn’t know how to sleep on his own anymore. Even his small bed feels enormous without someone else in it with him. He pulls it against his chest, holding it tightly, and watches the light bounce gently around the room until he begins to drift off.

***

It takes Michael a few minutes to notice that something isn’t right. It’s not the first time he’s woken up in the middle of the night, and it won’t be the last, but there is definitely something wrong. He just can’t figure out what. It’s quiet, but not unusually so. He can still hear the normal nighttime sounds outside. It’s too dark for him to see anything but he can feel that he’s still on Alex’s couch. Exactly where he fell asleep. Which means Alex should still be in his bed, so no cause for alarm there.

He bolts upright when it hits him. Dark. It’s completely dark in the cabin. _That’s_ what’s wrong. 

“Shit, _fuck,_ ” he nearly tumbles straight to the floor as he scrambles to his feet.

Alex is afraid of the dark. Petrified of it. Michael had found that out the first day he’d brought him back to the cabin. He’s been careful to make sure he has light since then, always. He’s made sure the cabin is fully stocked with flashlights and candles in case of emergency—though he’d mostly been _restocking_ it, since there had been plenty to begin with. But the power going out in the middle of the night isn’t something he’d considered.

Grabbing his phone for light he rushes to the bedroom, hoping that Alex is still sleeping soundly, unaware of the blackout. Of course, when has anything ever been that easy for them? 

_“Alex,”_ Michael rushes to his side.

Alex is covering his head with his arms, curled into the fetal position. His entire body is trembling as he sobs, straining to keep quiet even now, trapped in his own personal pit of terror. He’s soaked in sweat and there’s urine pooling under him.

Michael climbs onto the bed beside him and pulls him into his arms, “It’s okay, Alex, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. I’m here, it’s just me and you. No one’s gonna hurt you, baby.”

Face buried against Michael’s chest, Alex clings to him like his life depends on it. He doesn’t restrain himself now, instead weeping openly in Michael’s arms in a way he never has before. 

Michael holds him tighter, rubs his back gently, “I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t know the power was out, Alex, I swear. I’m sorry.”

He has no way to know how long the power has been out or how long Alex has been awake. No idea how long he’s been lying here like this, alone and afraid and wet and cold. Confused and helpless, unable to call out to Michael for help. Too long, that’s all that matters.

He hasn’t messed up this badly since the very beginning. Since the day, two months in, when he’d gotten up and started to make breakfast, only to realize he’d forgotten to buy groceries when he was supposed to. There had been exactly enough for him to throw together a small breakfast for him and Alex until he’d knocked over the egg carton and the few eggs they had had practically exploded all over the floor. It was still early, around seven, and nowadays Alex usually sleeps until around nine. Convinced he had enough time to run out to the grocery store and get back before he would wake, Michael had hurried out to pick up what he needed to make breakfast. He hadn’t counted on running into Wyatt Long. 

Michael’s made incredible strides in controlling his temper over the years, but there’s a certain thing about old habits. He’d tried his best to ignore Wyatt. He really had. He’d almost succeeded—made it all the way back to the parking lot—until the bastard had to declare his theory that Alex had probably _enjoyed_ whatever happened to him while he was gone. Michael had told him to fuck off and intended to leave after that, but then he heard words like _that bitch_ and _squealing_ and the next thing he knew he was sitting in a damn jail cell with bruised knuckles and a bloody lip. Max wasn’t in yet. Sheriff Valenti wasn’t in yet. He’d used his phone call to try and get a hold of Kyle, but he’d only gotten his voicemail. Deputy O’Leary—a proud homophobe who holds firmly to the theory that Alex had just ‘run off’ for all those years—was the one watching him and wouldn’t let him make another call, no matter how much he begged and tried to explain about the situation with Alex.  


It took hours before Max arrived. Hours of absolute panic, during which he seriously considered just breaking out and risking exposure. The only thing that kept him from doing so was the knowledge that Alex needs him. Him winding up in a government lab somewhere would only hurt Alex more than being left alone for a few hours would, painful as that knowledge was to endure. Michael had blurted out that Alex was alone at the cabin before Max could even be confused about his presence, and Max hadn’t wasted a second in contacting the entire group telepathically while telling Deputy O’Leary he’d take care of Michael from there. Kyle was finishing his shift and leaving the hospital at that moment and went straight to the cabin while Max hurried to get Michael processed and released. It was well into the afternoon when he finally made it back to the cabin. He didn’t have a single defense to offer when Kyle chewed him out over the whole thing. He just apologized, again and again, took Alex into his arms and forced himself not to cry. He hasn’t even considered leaving the cabin without letting Alex know since then, not even for a cigarette.  


“I’m so sorry, baby,” he says again, pulling Alex into his lap and rocking him gently. “I’ll do better, I promise. First thing tomorrow I’m gonna get some of those emergency lights. You know, the ones that you plug in and they run on battery when the power goes out? I’m gonna get a whole bunch of those and every socket’s gonna have one. This house is never gonna be dark again, I swear to God, Alex. This is never gonna happen again baby, never ever.”

Michael can’t tell if his words are a comfort or not, so he holds Alex as tight as he can and plants kisses atop his head. Rocks him and keeps whispering gentle reassurances. With his powers, he pulls a flashlight from the bedside table and gives them more light than his phone can. It takes time, but eventually Alex’s despaired sobbing fades to panting and whimpering. His trembling lessens slightly and his grip on Michael lightens just a bit. Michael can tell that he’s still afraid—still partially lost in whatever haunts him—but at least he seems to understand where he is and who he’s with. 

“You feeling a little better?” Michael asks.

Head still resting against Michael’s chest, Alex sniffles and nods weakly.

“Good,” Michael says. “I am so sorry Alex, I really am. I don’t know what happened. The generator, I guess. I’ll check it out in the morning. Don’t worry, it won’t happen again. I’ll personally drag the fucking sun in here if I have to.”

Alex doesn’t quite laugh, but the small sound he makes is clearly an amused one. It’s the closest to genuine personality Michael’s seen from him since bringing him back and it’s a relief to hear. 

“Come on,” Michael suggests, “let’s get you cleaned up now, okay? Don’t want you getting sick.”

Carrying Alex is easy, easier than it’s ever been. He wasn’t malnourished when they rescued him, but he’s still lost pounds and pounds of muscle during his imprisonment. His once solid frame is scrawny now, more even than he was in high school. He’s been molded into someone delicate, someone who can’t defend himself. A new body for a new mind. All crafted perfectly by Michael’s own brother. He doesn’t resist as Michael lifts him up—not that Michael expected him to—and carries him the short way to the bathroom. 

Using his powers to move Alex’s chair out of the way and turn the water on, Michael sets him down on the edge of the tub and undresses him gingerly. He’s been doing his best to avoid this kind of situation; treating Alex like a child instead of letting him do things for himself. Until now he’s been successful, but at the moment Alex seems only half here—still fearful and trembling—and Michael’s not sure he’ll be able to do this himself right now.

“Is this okay? The temperature?” He asks, cautiously lowering Alex foot first into the warm water.

When Alex nods Michael grabs a washcloth from the cabinet and sets about cleaning him, his hands soft and careful. Alex leans into his every movement and it takes everything Michael has not to climb into the damn tub with him and hold him until he knows exactly how safe he is.

Instead he distracts himself by talking, “I don’t know what he did to you back there, Alex, but it’s not gonna happen again. He _can’t_ hurt you anymore. I won’t let him. Whatever he did that made you so afraid, it’s over now. I know I couldn’t protect you before but I can now. I _can._ And I will.”

Alex nods absently. He’s neither agreeing nor reassured. Just accepting Michael’s words as fact, because that’s what he thinks he’s supposed to do. That’s what _Teave_ wanted him to do.

“Look at me, Alex,” Michael says, taking hold of his face and gently turning it toward himself.

He shouldn’t impose his will on him like this, not when Alex doesn’t understand that he can refuse. It’s wrong to do anything that might reinforce his belief that he has to do whatever Michael tells him. But Alex is still shaking, still looking at him through tear-filled eyes and Michael can’t bear it. Can’t deny him the comforting touches he so clearly craves. They _had_ had discussions about him being touch starved and needing physical reassurance, after all. Fuck it, if Alex needs to be babied and held right now, that’s what Michael’s going to do. One night can’t hurt, right?

He tugs his clothes off and squeezes into the tub, pulling Alex into his lap as he does. He wraps his arms around him again and lays back against that back of the tub. He holds him close, as tight as he can without hurting him, and tucks him under his chin. Alex twists so he’s curled up on his side, rests his head against Michael’s chest and sighs in what sounds like relief. Soft whimpers continue to escape his lips, his fingers running lightly across Michael’s collarbone as if assuring himself that Michael is really there.

“You were wrong, you know,” Michael says, picking up from their last real conversation four years ago. “There _were_ other guys, besides you. First was—well, the first after you—was this dude Mark I met out camping one night. Probably not smart of either of us, but whatever, we were like twenty. Then there was this ranch hand I knew from Foster’s, Pedro; hooked up with him a few times. And Jake Vasquez, you remember him? He graduated a year ahead of us. One night I gave him a blowjob in the Pony’s bathroom and then he fingered me in the parking lot. Bunch of one night stands whose names I never got. Um, I’ve seen every episode of Life in Pieces because I kind of have a crush on Colin Hanks. And I know he’s a cartoon, but I think Prince Eric from The Little Mermaid is hot.”

He rubs his hands over Alex’s arms, trying to think of what else to say. He knows he shouldn’t talk about any of what happened between them in the past, not until Alex is capable of processing all that’s happened. But he’s breaking all the rules tonight anyway.

“And, for your information, I liked you _before_ you offered me a place to stay. I did. I uh, I think ...well, I _know_ I always liked being around you. I ...always thought you were _cool._ You never cared what people thought about you, you were just ...you. Even when you were getting picked on and it would’ve been so much easier for you to just be what _they_ wanted you to be. You stood your ground. And then, do you remember when we were grouped together with Max and Maria for that history project in tenth grade? It’s okay if you don’t, it was a long time ago.”

He waits for Alex to nod before he goes on.

“The first day of the project I ...I told a joke. I don’t remember it, but it was something really stupid. Max and Maria both told me I was an idiot. But you, you laughed at it like it was the funniest thing you’d ever heard. Like, five minutes straight you laughed for. Your whole face was red and I’m not sure you were breathing. Your eyeliner got all smudged because you were crying from laughing so hard. And then a little while later you started laughing again. Max and Maria kept saying it wasn’t that funny but you just kept laughing.”

Michael pauses, picturing that day in his mind. Wishes he’d had the guts to speak up then and there. Maybe it would’ve saved them all this pain.

“I’d never seen you like that before. In fact I’m not entirely sure I’d ever seen you laugh before that. Like, _really_ laugh. Not like that, anyway. I liked it. It was like, like the whole world stopped mattering because of my stupid joke. I’d never seen you look so _happy._ I wanted to see you like that again. And that’s when I realized that I actually had a crush on you. And I panicked, because I didn’t know what that meant. I’d never heard of bisexuality at that point so I thought something was wrong with me because I liked guys _and_ girls. Or like, maybe it was an alien thing. So I kept it to myself.”

He tightens his grip around Alex, feeling the tears build up in his eyes. He doesn’t mean to let them fall. He needs to be strong right now. _Alex_ needs him to be strong. But he’s always been weak when it comes to Alex, and soon enough the tears are sliding down his face.

“Everything he told you is bullshit, Alex,” Michael whispers. “All of it. I love you. I do. I always have. And I never stopped looking for you, darlin’. I never looked away, I swear. Not for one minute. None of us did. Even when we made ourselves step back and do something _normal,_ it was still for you, baby. Because we knew you’d be upset if we’d all put our lives on hold until you came back. We knew we had to keep going like you were still here with us, or you wouldn’t have a life to come back to. We couldn’t let that happen, ‘cause you’d just yell at us for it. Plus we figured, after all you’ve been through, you’d like some good news when you came home.”

He stops there. For a moment he waits, hoping that maybe he’ll get a response. There isn’t one, of course. Alex has no way to respond to all of that. There’s a chance most of it doesn’t even make any sense to him. The words he comprehends, that Michael is sure of, but the meaning _in_ them? The _truth_ of it? That’s lost in the shattered remains of Alex’s mind.

Michael had been expecting a lot of things when they finally got Alex back. He’d _hoped_ to find him more or less unharmed. Still fighting, still holding onto himself. Complying only for self-preservation, finding ways to resist despite his promise that he wouldn't. He’d hoped to find an Alex that, after the initial shock wore off, had come to realize he’d been lied to. Who knew that Michael loved him with all he had, knew he’d be coming for him. An Alex that would curse at him for taking so damn long. That’s what he’d hoped for.

What he’d _expected_ was blood and bruises and broken bones. Shackles and chains and cages and gags. He’d expected to find an Alex whose body was fractured, emaciated and fragile. An Alex whose mind was frightened, tortured into submission. He’d expected to have to coax him into his arms, assure him over and over that he would be safe with Michael.

Or an Alex whose body was unharmed while his mind was broken from the inside out. Brainwashed and rewritten. An Alex who’d been wiped clean of his memories on Earth, who wouldn’t even recognize Michael. Or worse, had been manipulated into thinking _Michael_ was the enemy, that _Earth_ had been his prison and that he was only safe on Antar. With _Teave._ He’d expected the possibility that he’d have to force him to come home, that he’d have to be deprogrammed like some poor cult victim.

Or even an Alex who didn’t need to be broken. Who was exactly as he’d been in that last moment—resigned. Certain he would never be rescued, yet unafraid all the same. An Alex who’d simply accepted his fate and buried his own sense of self to endure it. He’d expected he might have to take care of an Alex who’s empty and lifeless, his mind destroyed by the trauma. That they would have to dig deep in his mind to find him.

He’d been expecting PTSD. He’d been expecting Stockholm Syndrome. He’d been expecting sadness, happiness, anger, fear, relief. He’d been expecting a lot of things. This wasn’t one of them.

This Alex, who recognizes him but still looks at him with such confusion. Who doesn’t understand why they’ve rescued him. Doesn’t seem to be aware he _needed_ rescuing in the first place. An Alex whose mind is so lost in fog that Isobel can’t even find his inner self. Who’s docile and timid. Who can understand them but can’t speak. Who obeys him mindlessly, thinks he _belongs to_ Michael. An Alex who knows them, loves them, but doesn’t realize that he’s one of them. Doesn’t know that he’s family to them. He doesn’t know that what happened to him was _wrong._ Michael doesn’t know how to help an Alex who understands what happened yet doesn’t understand that he’s the victim.

But then, maybe that’s been the problem all along.

“But you never did come home, did you? You’re here but you’re ...you’re not _really_ here. Your mind is still trapped there, isn’t it? This isn’t fair,” he sobs. “I’ve wanted to tell you these things for so long. So fucking long. And now that I finally have the chance, I don’t even know if you can really understand me. I don’t know if you understand _any_ of this. I don’t know what to do. I miss you, Alex. I miss you _so much._ I _love_ you. I know I fucked up. I know I’m the reason he got to you. I made you vulnerable to him. I did that. I did this to you. And I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Alex. Please, please just come home. I’m begging you, baby, _please_ come home. Come back to me, Alex. Please come back …”

Michael buries his face in Alex’s hair and cries. He’s not being fair. He can’t put this weight on Alex. Can’t expect him to just pick himself back up and push through like he’s always done before. He’s too broken this time. And Michael’s not helping him. Nothing he’s done over the last five months has helped him. He’s still the same as he was when they first brought him back to Earth. The only difference now is that he seems comfortable in the routine they’ve fallen into. But routine isn’t recovery, not when it keeps Alex’s mind trapped in a place where he has no say in his life.

But Michael doesn’t know what else to do. He keeps telling Alex, over and over, that he’s safe now. That he’s free. He doesn’t have to obey anybody. No one is going to hurt him. He can rest now. He doesn’t have to worry about what anyone thinks, what they want. He can just be. But he doesn’t know how anymore. He doesn’t understand that he’s his own person, that he’s free to make his own choices. Live his own life. Because he’s not here, Michael realizes, not really. There’s no trace of _his_ Alex, and Michael can’t figure out how to find him again. Some genius he is.

No one else seems to know either. They all try. They bring him in on the kinds of things he’d have loved once upon a time. They try to make him feel comfortable, familiar. At home. They try to welcome him back into his own life. Try to get him to open himself up—as much as he can without being able to speak—about what he went through. 

It never works, of course. Alex only seems to think they’re acting out of charity. That he’s an outsider that they’re graciously taking care of. He no longer sees himself as a person. And no matter how hard they try, they can’t seem to change his mind. Isobel searches his mind every chance she gets, but the fog inside never lets up even a little. She can’t use her powers to make him see the truth. At this point, Michael’s not sure he’d even believe it.

They don’t move for a long time. Not until the water goes cold and Alex—silent tears still sliding down his face—starts to shiver in Michael’s arms. Michael cradles him tenderly as he lifts him out of the tub and dries him. He gets them both into a fresh pair of sweatpants and T-shirts and carries him to the living room. The bed is still wet—he’ll have to take the sheets to the laundromat in the morning—so he brings Alex onto the couch with him. It’s hardly big enough for two, but if they can share the bunk in Michael’s Airstream they can make this work for one night.

As bad as it is that Michael’s so completely overstepped his bounds, Alex is more relaxed now than he’s been since that first night in the cave when he’d slept sedated in Michael’s arms. He’s settled comfortably on top of Michael, head still resting against his chest. With both the blanket and Michael’s arms wrapped around him, he’s neither trembling with fear nor shivering from the cold. He’s leaning into Michael’s touch as he gently strokes his face. For once he almost seems peaceful. For now, Michael thinks, that’s going to have to be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liz's engagement ring: 
> 
> The teddy bear from Mimi:


	14. probably off pouting in his trailer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We return to the morning after Alex's meeting with Trevor in Santa Fe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains references to rape and domestic abuse. It's also highly critical of Isobel and how her character was handled in S1, but I think I'm pretty fair to her.
> 
> Due to a personal matter (everything is okay) I might not be able to post next Saturday, but hopefully I'll be able to find the time to polish/proofread the next chapter and post it on schedule.

Michael has a bad habit of letting himself into people’s houses. He _does,_ as Max once said, have a lockpick in his brain. He’s been scolded and screamed at and lectured for it numerous times over the years. Mostly by Max and Isobel, but Liz and Maria have added their names to that list in the last few months. So he’s expecting Isobel’s annoyance when he enters her home unannounced the morning after the incident in Santa Fe, the clothes she lent him crumpled up in his hand. What he’s not expecting is the absolute rage she’s radiating.

“Are you _kidding_ me, Michael?” She demands, greeting him in her bathrobe.

He sighs, “I know, I was supposed to check in with you last night.”

She scoffs, “Check in with me? That’s the _least_ of your problems right now, Guerin. Alex basically _sells himself_ to help us save Max and you call him a _whore?_ ”

“I didn’t call him—wait, how do you know about that?”

“He came over last night. Or, this morning; it was almost four.”

“Why?” Michael asks. He knows Alex was upset and doesn’t blame him for it; he knows he’s part of why Alex is upset. He also knows that Alex had refused to let Michael back into his hotel room when he came back after his poor attempt to threaten Trevor away—again, not something Michael blames him for. So he’d spent the night in his truck and tried again first thing in the morning, but Alex was already gone. Also not something Michael blames him for. What he doesn’t know is why he would go to Isobel of all people.

Isobel shifts, not entirely proud of herself, “I sensed him when he got back into town. The connection was still there from when I read his mind the other day. He was so upset it actually woke me up, so I ...I influenced him to come here.”

Michael rubs his hand over his face, “Oh, Jesus.”

“I didn’t make him talk. I just gave him a lot of alcohol. Most of what I know comes from him thinking it very loudly,” Isobel explains. 

Her powers have been getting stronger lately, strong enough that sometimes she can hear thoughts even when she’s not trying to. Sometimes they reach her from far away like some kind of telepathic radio broadcast. Only from people who are usually easy for her to read, though. Certainly not someone as guarded as Alex. If his thoughts were loud enough for Isobel to hear—even with the connection she’d established reading his mind the other day—he must’ve been in worse shape than Michael realized.

“What _do_ you know?” He asks.

“That he slept with this Trevor asshole,” Isobel replies. She holds out her finger as though to both keep Michael from interrupting and to keep her own thoughts in order. “Actually, no, it’s more like he was raped by him. To get his piece of the console. For Max. For _us._ And instead of, oh, I don’t know, _comforting_ him, you got _mad_ at him?”

“I can’t explain it,” Michael admits. “I wasn’t mad at _him._ I was mad at _Trevor._ I _wanted_ to comfort him, Isobel. I really did. But when he walked in the room I just ...all of a sudden I _was_ mad at him. And I knew it made no sense but I just kept saying things I knew would hurt him. I wanted to hurt _Trevor_ but I hurt Alex instead.”

_“Why?”_

“I don’t know,” Michael whispers.

“You don’t _know?_ ” Isobel asks, incredulous.

“I don’t. It was like, I forgot Alex was the victim. Somehow.”

“Well, that’s just great,” Isobel says. “First you stand him up, then you victim blame him. I honestly don’t even feel like I know you right now, Michael.”

Michael flinches. He’s never told Isobel the details of how he broke up with Alex for Maria. And he knows Maria certainly hasn’t, which leaves one person. “Alex told you about that?”

Isobel shrugs, “Again, he was thinking it. He felt guilty for using it against you when he’s trying to let you move on and be happy with Maria. By the way, I’m not on your side anymore and _I_ definitely don’t blame him for throwing it back at you.”

“What do you mean?” Michael asks.

“I may not like Maria,” Isobel replies, “but I’ve been trying to support your relationship because she makes you happy. I always thought she was a good person. I always thought _you_ were a good person. _And_ I always thought you broke it off cleanly with Alex before you got with Maria. Apparently I was wrong on _all_ accounts. I mean, to just stand him up? Just … _leave_ him there, waiting for you? That’s despicable, Michael.”

“I …” Michael’s made plenty of excuses to himself over the months about that. But now, haunted by the image of Alex in so much pain last night, they’re all worthless.

“I realize he hurt you and all, but at least he had the decency to break up with you to your face. Not tell you to come talk and then ditch you.”

“When did he go home?” Michael asks. He needs to get over there and start apologizing immediately. For yesterday, right now. The rest, he has too much personal unpacking to do before he can even think about having that conversation.

“He didn’t,” Isobel says. “He’s sleeping in the guest room. I’m not letting him wake up until he’s gotten a good eight hours. I suggest you do the same. You’re going to need your strength for all the groveling tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“You think I’m letting you talk to him today? Not a chance. I have my own plans for Alex today.”

The look in Isobel’s eyes keeps him from arguing. He knows she and Alex have never really gotten along. In fact, Alex had made it clear to him months ago that his opinion of her was on par with Michael’s opinion of Kyle. Tolerated for the sake of mutual friends. Later that same evening Maria had expressed her agreement and filled Michael in on just how much of a bully Isobel had really been to them. Revealed numerous stories that often involved either Alex, Liz, Maria or any number of other “freaks” in tears due to Isobel and her high school friends. Some were undoubtedly Noah’s doing, but others Michael knows—with a resigned dread—were purely Isobel. The version of Isobel known only to those she had—in all her privileged high school Queen Bee glory—deemed beneath her. He’s never actually known that version of her, but he can’t deny that she existed. Would still exist, he suspects, had Liz never returned to Roswell. Michael had processed the whole thing by shutting himself in his bunker for three days consuming nothing but alcohol, acetone, and beef jerky.

For her part, Isobel seems to be trying, sometimes, to change herself. She’s made regretful comments, here and there, about the person she used to be. She’s become honest, genuine friends with Liz, much to Maria’s annoyance and Alex’s insistence that he doesn’t care either way. Most of her time, though, is spent trying to cope with everything that’s happened to her. But then, maybe that’s what has her feeling so protective of Alex now. His relationship with Trevor, whatever exactly it is, isn’t the same as Isobel’s was with Noah. But the pain in Alex’s eyes reminds Michael perfectly of the pain in Isobel’s, so maybe it’s not that different after all. Not in the ways that count.

“You gonna eat ice cream and watch hallmark?” He asks.

“That’s for amateurs,” Isobel quips. “Now go home. You and I still have a lot to talk about, but I’m not up for it right now and neither are you.”

“Will you at least tell him I’m sorry?”

“I’ll tell him you asked about him,” She compromises.

“Thanks,” Michael mutters as he leaves. He doesn’t go home. There’s someone else he needs to talk to first.

Maria looks like she’s just gotten out of bed herself when he gets to her place. She takes one look at the state he’s in and groans, “Oh God, what did you do?”

“I messed up,” He admits.

“No kidding. How this time?” Maria steps aside to let him in. Hands him a cup of coffee and sits at her kitchen table with her own. “My mom is sleeping so keep it down.”

He joins her, setting his hat on the table and trying to figure out how to start. They haven’t been alone together since the breakup, but somehow there’s no awkwardness now. Maybe it’s because, like everyone else, she’s so used to being mad at him. 

“I ...I went to Santa Fe.”

Maria groans again, “Oh you, _didn’t._ Please tell me you _didn’t._ ”

“I did,” Michael says. “It was bad, Maria. It was real bad.”

“The piece?”

Michael shakes his head, “I have it. That ...Alex had that part totally under control.”

“You mean like he _said_ he did?”

“Yeah …” Michael trails off, staring into his coffee.

“Spill,” Maria orders, sipping her coffee.

“Trevor Teave is an awful human being,” Michael starts. “He’s worse than we thought, Maria.”

Her face falls from frustration into fear, “Is Alex—”

“He’s okay,” Michael assures her quickly. “Physically. I …I probably shouldn’t be telling you this without his permission but, I, I think he used to date him.”

She rolls her eyes, “Yes, genius, we all assumed _that._ ”

“You did?” Michael asks.

“You _didn’t?_ ”

Michael shrugs, “I …I don’t know. I like to think Alex …I like to think his other boyfriends all treated him right.”

“I’d like to think that, too,” Maria says softly, reaching out and placing her hand on his. “But truth be told, I don’t think he ever really had the guts to date anyone after what his dad did to you. If any man did actually manage to get Alex to let him in, he’s either an angel or a devil.”

Michael exhales, “Devil. Trevor is definitely a devil.”

“What happened, Michael?”

“Pretty sure Trevor wants him back. He kept trying to touch him when they were at lunch. Alex was ...uncomfortable, but he didn’t really stop him because I think he was worried he wouldn’t get the fragment if he did. And then Alex gave him the money, and I followed him back to his hotel and I just …”

“Just what?” Maria presses.

“I said things to him,” Michael breathes. He needs to be careful about how much he lets Maria know. It’s up to Alex, not Michael, who learns just how far he had to go yesterday. “I accused him of some really awful things. I accused him of _using_ me to get back at his dad.”

“What the _hell,_ Michael?”

“I don’t know,” he says as pathetically as he had to Isobel. “I don’t know what came over me. He obviously had a good reason to never wanna see this guy again and having lunch with him definitely threw Alex off and I just made it worse. God, Maria, the look on his face was …”

“So what’re you doing _here_ instead of apologizing?”

“I can’t,” He explains, “Isobel took him hostage for the day.”

“I’m sure she’ll do a _fabulous_ job making him feel better,” Maria spits sarcastically.

“Well she’s just about as pissed at me as you are right now. I actually think she might um, _relate._ ”

Maria’s expression softens, “Oh. Yeah, okay, I can get that. Still, I hope you’re not expecting _comfort_ right now.”

He shakes his head, “No. I know I fucked up. I just wanted you to know Alex is ...not in a good place. You know he won’t come out and ask for help but I think he’s really gonna need you and Liz right now. Or, whenever Isobel decides to let him go.”

She sighs, “He’s not gonna be happy you told me this. That man guards his privacy like there’s no tomorrow. And this whole stalker thing doesn’t help. Jesus he’s gonna be _so_ mad.”

“I know. But I figured, I’m already in this deep, may as well just go all the way,” Michael says.

“You might have a point,” Maria agrees. “Just don’t tell anyone else. I’ll call Liz and we’ll handle it from here. You get your ass out of here before I throw my coffee in your face.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Michael says, standing up and putting his hat back on. “Oh, I wanted to ask you one more thing.”

“What?”

“Have you told Alex that we broke up?”

She scoffs, “Yes, Michael, we’ve been eating ice cream together while I cry on his shoulder over the man I basically stole from him.”

“You didn’t steal me,” Michael insists.

“No,” Maria agrees, “but I broke his heart just as much as you did. It doesn’t matter how often I apologize, the fact is I promised him I wasn’t interested in you, and then I went behind his back and got with you anyway.”

“Because _I_ told you we were—”

“It doesn’t matter, Michael,” Maria says. “It doesn’t matter what you told me. Although now that you mention it, fuck you for lying like that. You knew damn well it wasn’t really over. Or if you didn’t then, you knew it when you came to me while he was waiting at your trailer for you.”

“Yeah, I know …” Michael admits.

Maria sighs, “Doesn’t take away my part in it, though. I _knew_ he was still in love with you. I knew he was _hopeful_ —for the first time in _years,_ maybe—that he could actually have the life he wanted. I took that from him. _We_ took that from him. Even if we really were endgame—true love, soul mates, twin flames, eternal lovers—the way we did it was so wrong. We _both_ should’ve talked to him before we even _considered_ getting together.”

“I know,” Michael repeats.

“And when he confronted me, he asked if I loved you. When I said yes, he just asked me why I couldn’t’ve done it before he got back. And honestly, that hurt way more than if he’d gone off on me.”

“Maria,”

“I told him I’d end it right then. I told him our friendship meant more to me—no offense. But he said not to. He said there was no sense in it if you and I really loved each other. He insisted on it, and I know he’d probably have felt even worse if you and I _didn’t_ get together for his sake.”

“You really think so?” Michael asks. He doesn’t need her to answer; he knows it’s true. If he and Maria hadn’t given it a try after Alex caught them together, Alex would only blame himself for something like ‘ruining their chances’ together.

“You know it’s true. So now we’re really, really trying to stay friends. He’s trying. I’m trying. But it’s not the same. I don’t know if it ever will be. We can’t even really be alone together it’s so uncomfortable. We don’t talk much outside of …this. When we do, we keep it super light, like we’re just acquaintances or something,” Maria laments.

Michael wants to apologize for that. For the role he played in damaging their friendship. True, Alex and Maria are both adults who made their own choices, but none of those choices would’ve had to have been made had Michael not acted the way he had. Had he not run to Maria in a pitiful attempt to ignore his problems, as though not confronting his pain would make it vanish. Had he not tried to ‘get back’ at Alex for walking away, as though escaping his father wasn’t a perfectly valid reason to leave Michael behind.

Instead, he stays silent as Maria continues on, “And I can’t talk to him about us, because he’ll _comfort me_ and I’ll feel guilty and maybe part of him will be pleased and _he’ll_ feel guilty and that’ll make everything worse. So no, I’m not planning on talking to him about our breakup until I’m done mourning it.”

“Mourning?” Michael asks. “ _You_ broke up with _me.”_

“That doesn’t mean I don’t get to be upset about it, asshole. Besides, we both know damn well that you’d been thinking about ending things for weeks. I think the only reason we lasted as long as we did was because we were worried that if we didn’t last, it meant we’d hurt Alex for no reason. Which frankly, is exactly what we did. Holding onto our toxic wastedump of a relationship wasn’t going to change that.”

“Maybe,” Michael mutters, though deep down he knows she’s right.

“Now go home,” Maria orders. “Go home and think about what you did.”

Michael sighs again, “Will do.”

***

When Alex wakes with a splitting headache and the awareness that he’s not in his own bed, his first instinct is to panic. Then the memories of last night start to show themselves and he realizes he hasn’t gotten blackout drunk and hooked up with some stranger. Or worse—far, far worse—gone back to Trevor. No, he’d gone to Isobel’s house. For some reason he can’t remember. He remembers being with Trevor. Arguing with Michael. Deciding somewhere around midnight that he couldn’t stay in his hotel anymore and leaving. Refusing to let himself cry again, planning to wait until he got back to his cabin. Entering Roswell.

That’s when things get fuzzy; he’d wound up at Isobel’s house and she’d welcomed him with open arms and a glass of wine. Not his usual choice of alcohol for such times but it was what she’d had and he was grateful for it. Then he’d spent the next two hours drinking on her couch. Gotten drunk enough to start telling her things. Not all that much, but enough.

He’d told her how he’s spent the last few years trying to stay away from Trevor. Told her how he’d needed help to leave the first time. That he’d argued with Michael, though not what about. How furious Michael is with him now. And then, strangely, Isobel had offered him her guest room for the night. Stranger still, he’d accepted.

Seeing Trevor again must have him more thrown than he’d thought if he’s forgetting his manners and accepting invitations made out of courtesy. He may not like Isobel but he owes her a hell of an apology for disturbing her night like that. 

The strangest part, though, is that he slept through the entire night without waking or having a single nightmare. He can’t recall the last time he’d managed that. He sits up in the bed, relieved to see his leg and crutch are both within easy reach. What’s more, there’s a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water on the nightstand. Cliche, but he’s grateful nonetheless.

Isobel is on her sofa when he steps out into the living room. Her back is to him as she applies a fresh coat of paint to her nails but she still manages to be the first to speak, “Good morning. Or, afternoon. It’s after two.”

“Shit, is it?” Alex asks. There was no clock in the guest room and he doesn’t know where his phone is.

“Yup,” Isobel replies, not looking up from her nails.

“Look, Isobel, I’m really sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have barged in on you like that. I don’t even know what,” Alex pauses, realization hitting him and sighs as he finishes, “came over me.”

Isobel turns around now, hands held up slightly in apology, “In my defense, you were not in good shape last night.”

He glares at her, “And your solution was to _brainwash_ me?”

“It’s not brainwashing—”

“If you try to tell me you just _influence_ people as a defense I swear to God I will shoot your tires out and no amount of _influence_ will stop me.”

Isobel hesitates, then tries a different route, “I didn’t think you should be alone the way you were. Much less driving to a creepy cabin in the middle of nowhere with a stalker still after you.”

Alex groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Isobel. Even if you have good intentions, you cannot just go into people’s heads like that. How did you even know I was back in town?”

“I sensed you. I ...can do that when I establish a connection. By entering a person’s mind.”

“So that’s how Guerin knew where to go,” Alex realizes. He’d been too upset to wonder about it much, but the question had been in the back of his mind. He knew he hadn’t just followed him the whole way; Michael isn’t stealthy enough for a stunt like that.

“I know it was wrong,” Isobel admits, “but he was worried about you.”

“Yeah,” Alex dismisses, “well, he’s not worried anymore.”

“He is,” Isobel says. “Look, why don’t you sit down? We can talk.”

He shakes his head, “I should go.”

“Please? I ordered Chinese. Enough for two. It’ll be here any minute and it’d be a shame to waste it.”

“Do I actually _have_ a choice?”

Isobel flinches, but nods, “I’m _asking_ you to have lunch with me. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

Alex sighs, “Whatever you ordered, I get first dibs on all of it.”

“Fair,” Isobel says, patting the space next to her on the sofa. As he sits she reaches for a bottle of nailpolish remover on the coffee table and holds it out to him.

“Uh, I’m human,” He reminds her.

She rolls her eyes, “For its _intended_ purpose.”

Alex glances down at his hands, having almost forgotten about painting his nails yesterday, “Oh. Right.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Isobel says. “The black polish and the sparkles look nice. And the gold eyeshadow is actually kind of to die for. But I don’t get the impression it’s really … _you.”_

Alex takes the bottle from her and grabs a cotton ball from the bag she has on the table. He doesn’t answer her as he begins scrubbing the polish from his nails. He’d been so busy preparing himself to meet Trevor that he hadn’t thought to buy any makeup remover for afterward. All he wants to do now is get rid of all the evidence of their encounter. Erase it, from both his body and his mind. Not that it matters when everyone probably already knows by now.

Michael has undoubtedly told Maria all about Alex’s tryst. Filled her in on all the details of what he’d really done to get the fragment, what he’s been hiding. If she hasn’t already, Maria will probably tell Liz so they can decide whether they need to stage some kind of intervention or just drop him altogether. Either decision will result in Kyle and Rosa being told so they can get on board. Which means that before the week is up, he’ll either have to confess to every awful thing that happened between him and Trevor, or watch everyone who matters to him cut him out of their lives. And even if they do decide on the former, once they hear the full story they may decide to cut him out anyway. He wouldn’t blame them.

“What do you think?” Isobel asks, showing off her first hand now that it’s fully painted.

He grimaces at the hideous shade of peach, “You want me to be honest or polite?”

She makes an offended noise, “Well that answers _that._ ”

“I can’t help it if you picked an ugly color,” He states.

“Oh please,” Isobel scoffs, “you hate any color that isn’t black.”

“One, that’s not true,” Alex replies, “and two, black goes with literally everything. The only thing _that_ goes with, is puke.”

“I _like_ it,” she insists.

Alex shrugs, “So wear it. They’re your nails.”

“I will.”

“Okay.”

There’s an awkward, uncomfortable silence as they both continue their respective tasks. A silence that fortunately is broken in just a few minutes when the food arrives and they put their nails on pause to eat. As promised, Isobel gives Alex first choice of everything. He’s not sure if she read his mind while he slept to find out what he likes, guessed accurately, or just happens to like all the same things, but all his favorites are present. 

“I thought you couldn’t control people from a distance,” He says, midway through their meal.

“I can’t,” Isobel replies. “Or, I couldn’t. I think last night might’ve been because I’d already connected our minds. And, maybe, because you were really upset you were easier to influence than normal?”

“What do you mean easier than normal?” Alex asks, suddenly defensive. “Have you been in my head before?”

“No! I swear it, Alex, I haven’t,” Isobel says. When he just gives her an unconvinced look she goes on, “I swear on Max! I’ve only ever been in your head once before last night and that was the day before so I could find out where you were going and tell Michael. Really.”

“Then what _did_ you mean?”

Isobel gestures around them vaguely, “Just, in general. Some people are easy to influence and some aren’t.”

“How can you tell who’s who?”

“Personality, usually,” Isobel explains. “The same way you can guess who’s gonna buy into everything they read on the internet. People who are more cautious or guarded are harder. And it depends on what I want them to do. If it’s something they’d absolutely never do, they won’t. But if it’s even remotely within like, their personal ...standards, I guess is the best word, I can push them to it.”

Alex nods, following her explanation clearly enough, then asks, “So I take it there was not a single person in town whose _personal standards_ could’ve involved sticking up for Arturo.”

Isobel freezes, “What?”

Alex shrugs, “Ten years and you never thought to convince anyone to feel bad for Arturo instead of hating him. There had to be _someone_ who could’ve been swayed to at least pity him and Liz. Maybe think of Rosa as a tragic victim of addiction instead of a murderer, give her the white girl treatment.”

He watches her for a long moment, waiting for a response. All he gets is her deer in headlights stare. Maybe he’s not being entirely fair; she’s trying to be nice after all. But then, she’s only trying to be nice out of pity. He doesn’t want to still look at Isobel as the spoiled brat who constantly mocked him and his closest friends in high school, but she makes it painfully easy to do so. Her intentions last night may have been good, but she still invaded his privacy and tampered with his free will. And if she’s going to justify that by saying she wanted to help when it’s not her business, he’s going to continue holding her accountable for _not_ protecting the Ortechos when it was.

He stands, grabbing his crutch and announces, “I should probably get going. Thanks for lunch.”

He’s almost out of the room when she calls out, “I didn’t.”

“What?” He asks, glancing at her.

She isn’t looking at him, but he can see realization dawning on her, “I didn’t think of that. I just ...I just buried it all and kept going.”

“I know, Isobel,” Alex says, “that’s the problem.”

“I never even considered that I could ...I could make things a little easier. Protect Arturo and Liz and ...make people _mourn_ Rosa instead of hate her. I just ...I was so busy worrying about Michael …”

“Michael? Why would you’ve been worried about Michael?” Alex asks, turning back around.

Isobel looks up at him now, “No one told you? He took the blame. He told me _he_ did it.”

“He told you what, that he just up and killed Rosa?”

“Oh, well, he said it was an accident. See that, that was the night he broke his hand,” Isobel says, unaware of how acutely Alex remembers that night. “He told me he ran into them right after and just lost control. It ...it seemed reasonable, at the time.”

“Jesus …” Alex breathes.

He’d been told that Isobel had no memory of killing Rosa—or of anything Noah did through her—but not that she’d spent all these years believing Michael had been the one to do it. But of course Michael had taken the blame for her. Of course he would go that far to protect her from herself. And Alex had given him the perfect excuse. Added yet another burden to his already heavy mind.

He’d always known the two events happened on the same night, but it had never occurred to him just how close they were to one another. If Michael hadn’t been with him that night, could he have gotten to Isobel sooner? Could he have saved Rosa? Stopped Noah, before he even escaped his pod? If there’s a chance that he could have, then that means that Alex ...

“Alex?” Isobel is at his side suddenly, her hand on his shoulder.

“I have to leave,” He whispers, his anger at her paling in comparison to his anger at himself. He pulls away from her, “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. I have to leave now.”

She grabs his arm again, “No, no you don’t have to go. You’re right, Alex. You’re right. It doesn’t matter what I thought happened, I could’ve been helping Arturo all this time. I could’ve influenced people to have sympathy. Maybe ...maybe I could’ve stopped Liz from getting shot in the first place …”

Alex shakes his head, “No amount of mind control is gonna make Wyatt Long less violent and racist.”

“Probably not,” Isobel agrees. “But still, you’re right. I let innocent people suffer for our mistake.” She moves her hand to his and tries to pull him back toward the couch, “Come sit. Please. At least finish eating.”

“You better not be in my head,” He mutters, not looking at her as she guides him onto the couch.

“I’m not,” Isobel promises. “But can I ask where you went just now?”

“No.”

She looks disappointed but accepts, “Okay. Can I ask you something else, though?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you love him?”

Alex turns to look at her again, “You know I do.”

He hates the fact that apparently everyone in the group knows about their history now. It’s his own fault that Kyle and Maria found out, but he’s still a little annoyed that Maria spilled about it to Liz and later on Liz to Rosa, both without talking to him first. And that Michael had told Isobel at some point while Alex was away. Michael swore to him that when he told Isobel, he’d been nineteen and drunk and hadn’t considered how wrong it was to officially out Alex to her without his permission. Then he’d told him that Max also knows, though he insists Max figured it out on his own. It’s frustrating that his secrets seem to spread so quickly, that he can’t even control _that_.

“No,” Isobel shakes her head, “not Michael. Trevor.”

Alex really doesn’t want to have this conversation. But he’s going to have to eventually—with people he actually considers his friends—so he may as well get in some practice. He sighs, “How much did I tell you last night?”

“Verbally, you told me that you dated him and then left him with help from one of your brothers. And then that you and Michael had a fight last night,” Isobel explains. “But your thoughts were really, really loud—I promise, I wasn’t _trying_ to read them—and ...they gave a little more away.”

_“How much_ more?”

“Just yesterday. I saw what he made you do. Not like, the whole thing but enough. And I saw the part with Michael. Who was totally out of line, by the way, and he knows it.”

“You talked to him already?”

Isobel nods, “He came by. He wants to apologize but I told him to shove it. Then I grounded him.”

Alex actually laughs at that one, “Oh really?”

“Yeah. He’s probably off pouting in his trailer.”

“Good,” Alex says. If Isobel, whose opinion of Michael is even more biased than Alex’s, thinks Michael was out of line yesterday, then maybe for once Alex is right to be annoyed at him. She’s the last person he ever expected to side with him, yet she has. Which means that maybe, just maybe, there’s hope for him yet. And really, if anyone can understand his feelings for Trevor, it _would_ be Isobel. Just because he doesn’t _like_ her, after all, doesn’t mean he doesn’t sympathize with what she went through. So he takes a deep breath and admits, “Yes. I loved Trevor.”

She nods, and the silence that follows is strangely comfortable. There’s nothing more either of them need to say on the matter, and they both know it. They’re not at that level yet and they don’t need to be. There’s an understanding there that neither of them ever thought would exist. For the moment, that’s enough.

“You want a drink?” Isobel asks eventually.

“You trying to get me drunk so I can’t leave?”

Isobel smiles, “Yes.”

“Tell you what,” Alex replies with a laugh, “you let me pick out a better color for your nails, and I’ll take you up on that drink.”

She holds out her hand, “You’ve got a deal, Manes.”


	15. saline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael and Alex deal with the revelation that Teave is Michael's brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience! This chapter picks up immediately where chapter eleven ("over and over") left off. Warning for a non-consensual kiss at the end. Comments much beloved! :)

“You, you’re my _what?_ ” Michael questions.

He cannot—does not—believe what he’s just heard. Accepting that Trevor, or rather _Teave,_ is an alien isn’t hard. He does have a Noah-like air about him. But he is not Michael’s brother. That wonderful, gentle-souled woman from Caulfield could never have produced him. Not this man. He can’t be. He just _can’t_ be.

“I am,” Teave repeats slowly, stressing every word as if to a small child, “your big brother.”

“No,” Michael shakes his head, “ _no._ There’s no way. You’re not my brother. You’re _not._ ”

Teave laughs, “I assure you, Rath, I am.”

“You’re _lying,_ ” Michael accuses.

“I’m not,” Teave says, shaking his head. “Really, why would I? Why would I lie when the truth hurts _so much_ more?”

“You’re not my _fucking_ brother!” Michael snarls. No one, absolutely _no one,_ who could hurt Alex the way this man has could be Michael’s brother. Could be related to him at all. It’s impossible. It’s not true, no matter what anyone says.

“This isn’t real,” Alex whimpers, staring wide-eyed at Teave and still gripping Michael’s hand. “Please, tell me this isn’t real, Michael.”

Michael’s no doctor and television is hardly a teacher, but he’s pretty sure this is usually the part where the human goes into shock. Letting Alex continue holding onto his left hand, he reaches out with his right to grab Alex’s shoulder and forces him to look at him, “Alex, look at me. It’s okay, Alex.”

Alex shakes his head and yanks himself away from Michael and turns his back to them, wrapping his arms around himself and groans, “Your brother. He’s your brother. I slept with your _brother._ ” He pauses, something between a whimper and a groan escaping his lips, “Oh God. I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Teave clicks his tongue, “Oh, come now, Alex, don’t disappoint me like this. It’s not like you.”

Ignoring him, Michael rests his hand on Alex’s back, “Alex, please, look at me.”

Teave heaves an annoyed sigh and flicks the butt of his cigarette at Alex, “Perhaps I was mistaken about you, little bunny.”

“Leave him _alone!_ ” Michael snaps, positioning himself a shield between Alex and Teave.

“Or you’ll _what,_ Rath?” Teave mocks. 

“Why are you doing this?” Alex asks, turning back toward them and nearly hysterical. “What do you _want?_ ”

“Oh, bunny, I just _told_ you. I came here to bring Rath and the others home. Until I learned how utterly _useless_ they are.”

“Useless?” Michael questions. “Useless for _what?_ Abusing Alex? That’s all you seem to do!”

“You really are annoying, Rath. I wonder, did _Mother_ erase your memories, or are you simply too stupid to recall?” Teave muses. 

“Don’t talk about my mother,” Michael growls.

“ _Our_ mother,” Teave remarks, “was once a fine warrior. On the path to claiming the throne. And then she threw it all away and ran off like a coward! Came here to this shithole planet to be captured by weak little _humans_ and die like the fool she was!”

Michael knows his powers are sometimes beyond his control. They escape him unconsciously, especially when his emotions run high. When his blood boils. And _nothing_ makes Michael’s blood boil like harming someone he loves. Teave has tormented Alex for years. And now, brother or not, he’s standing here insulting Michael’s mother. The woman who risked everything, gave everything, so that he could live. So it’s no wonder that the instant the words leave Teave’s mouth, he’s suddenly thrown backwards to the ground. What is a surprise, though, is that Michael is absolutely certain that _he_ didn’t do it.

“ _Fuck you,_ ” Alex snarls, standing over Teave with not a trace of the hysteria that had gripped him just seconds before.

“Oh, bunny,” Teave scolds, sitting upright and wiping away the bit of blood now dribbling from his nose, “ _that_ was a bad idea.”

“ _Try me,_ ” Alex challenges.

Even with Teave still on the ground, Michael moves to get between them again, hoping his power will be enough to counter Teave’s. If he’s anywhere near as strong as Noah, he won’t be able to last long. But Alex, strong as he is, is just a human. A fragile, delicate human. He can’t survive against Teave’s powers for even a second. Just one _thought_ and Teave could crush his heart in his chest. Michael can’t let that happen. He needs to get Alex out of here, away from Teave. He needs to find Max and Isobel. Max’s powers haven’t been as strong as since he revived, but he can still conjure enough lightning to just about kill a person—it doesn’t take all that much, after all—and Isobel’s telekinesis combined with Michael’s _should_ be enough to hold Teave back.

But Teave’s glare falls away to confusion and he glances down at his hands, “What? What’s—”

Alex doesn’t give him the chance to finish. He steps around Michael fluidly to knee Teave in the face, knocking him backward with enough force that Michael actually flinches at the sound of his head hitting the pavement. Not wasting a second, Alex crouches down and grasps a fisftul of Teave’s hair and yanks his head up, then slams it back down again. Satisfied that Teave won’t be regaining consciousness anytime soon, Alex stands and backs away from him.

“Fucking asshole,” He pants.

Cautiously, Michael reaches out to touch his shoulder, “Alex?”

Alex jumps back, “Don’t touch me!”

“Alex,” Michael says softly, reaching his hands out again slowly, “it’s okay.”

“Stay away, Guerin,” Alex warns, yanking open the door of his car. As he retrieves a bottle of water and begins pouring the contents over his hand, Michael finally sees the yellow powder smeared over his knuckles. He glances at Michael and orders, “Get him in the trunk.”

Michael laughs, “You clever fucking badass.”

“Flirt later, please,” Alex requests, getting into the car and starting it.

Taking a quick glance around to make sure no one has arrived to see their little show, Michael hoists Teave’s unconscious form into the trunk of Alex’s car with his powers. He hurries back to the passenger seat, unconcerned about leaving his truck behind for the moment. Alex’s grip around the steering wheel is so tight it turns his knuckles white as he drives them away from the lot. Where he’s planning to go, Michael isn’t quite sure.

“Did you fake that?” He asks. “Freaking out like that?”

“I mean, I _was_ freaked out,” Alex admits. “I kinda still am. But yeah, all that drama was fake. I just had to get to the powder without Trevor seeing it. Or, uh, Teave seeing it. Or whoever the hell he is.”

“He’s not my brother,” Michael insists.

“I don’t think that’s really important right now, Michael,” Alex says. “We need backup, start making calls.”

“Right, okay,” Michael replies, pulling out his phone. He’s about to dial Max’s number when he realizes he doesn’t even know where to tell him to meet them. “Wait, where’re we going?”

“The Project Shepherd base, obviously.”

Michael looks back at Teave, “I don’t know, man, that’s pretty far. What if he wakes up before we get there? That little bit of pollen won’t last long.”

“You have a better suggestion?” Alex asks.

“How much pollen do you have left?”

“Not much, a little less than half the bottle.”

“Go to my Airstream. We can dose him with the serum and lock him in my bunker until we figure out what to do next,” Michael says.

“That’ll kill him,” Alex points out.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Michael replies.

“Michael, he’s—”

“He’s _not_ my brother,” Michael cuts him off.

Alex glances at him, hesitant, then says, “Okay. But he could still give you answers. About your home, your family.”

“You think I’m gonna believe _anything_ this asshole has to say?” Michael questions.

“He doesn’t _lie,_ Michael,” Alex says, glancing at Trevor in his mirror.

“Alex, he has been lying to you since you met!” Michael exclaims. “He lied about his fucking _species!_ ”

“Yes,” Alex agrees, “but so did you.”

“You’re seriously comparing me to _him?_ ”

Alex shakes his head, “No, of course not, Guerin. I’m just saying that that …particular lie is kind of its own category.”

“You’re actually defending him.”

“I’m not defending him!” Alex insists. “I just don’t want you losing _another_ chance to find out about where you came from. I mean, Isobel can make sure he tells the truth, right? Look, we can discuss this when there’s not a hostile telekinetic being unconscious in my trunk, okay? Now would you make those damn calls?”

Michael wants to argue more but Alex is right. At the moment, getting the rest of the group together and dealing with this problem is more important. He calls Max first, then Isobel, telling both of them that they have a Noah-level problem and to meet them at the junkyard immediately. Fortunately, Liz is with Max and though Michael hadn’t intended to call Kyle and Maria just yet, she offers to do so for him. They make it to the junkyard without Teave waking. Alex searches his pockets, stripping him of his phone, keys, wallet and lighter while Michael moves his Airstream and opens the hatch, then hauls Teave down into the bunker. 

Once they’re inside, Alex tugs off Teave’s jacket, then secures him to a chair with zip ties; why he’s carrying them around in his car, Michael isn’t sure he wants to know. He stands back by the ladder as Alex digs through his jacket pocket and removes a plastic syringe with a capped needle. Michael watches as he uncaps the needle, bringing it to Teave’s arm.

He looks at Michael, uncertain, and asks, “Are you _sure_ you want me to use this on him?”

“The cellular degeneration takes time. I’m sure Liz can whip up some more of the antidote,” Michael replies.

Alex nods, and without another word injects Teave with the serum. Though he flinches slightly, Teave doesn’t stir otherwise. Stiffly, Alex backs away until he and Michael are standing side by side.

“Now what?” Michael asks, eyes glued to the man who claims to be his brother.

“We wait for backup,” Alex replies, staring dead ahead. “And then we work from there.”

“Should we stay down here? Or wait up top?” Michael asks. He’s not exactly accustomed to this sort of thing. The last time he’d taken part in keeping a hostile alien prisoner he’d blown it entirely and almost gotten everyone killed. This time, he’s going to let the professionals take the lead.

“I’m not sure it matters,” Alex admits. “Either the serum will suppress his powers or it won’t. If it does, we’re fine anywhere. If it doesn’t, we’re fucked anywhere.”

He has a point. Michael hadn’t considered the possibility that the serum might not work. He can’t think of a reason for it not to, but pharmacology isn’t his specialty. What he does know of it, however, is that—unlike in the movies—there isn’t a “one dose fits all” for any drug. Different people have different tolerances. Drugs have variances in their effects. There’s a chance it might affect Teave differently than it had Isobel and Noah. And if it doesn’t suppress his powers, Michael isn’t sure what else they can do against him.

He decides the thought is too terrifying to dwell on. “Alex?”

“Yeah?”

“What happened on Halloween?”

Alex closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair almost reflexively. But he doesn’t answer. Silence hangs in the air for several minutes. Then he opens his eyes and turns around to climb back up the ladder. Michael watches him go, then takes one last look at Teave. He’s still unconscious, slumped over in the chair and held up only by his restraints. If the serum works as intended, he won’t be getting out of it on his own. If it doesn’t, they’ll have to hope that he, Max and Isobel combined will be enough to handle him. Michael sighs, hating how outmatched he is yet _again,_ and follows after Alex.

He finds him standing a few feet away from the Airstream, arms wrapped protectively around himself. He’s staring at the ashes in the fire pit, the tense look on his face a clear sign he’s struggling to get his thoughts in order. Michael can’t tell if Alex is thinking of how best to explain this Halloween story to him, or if he’s trying to come up with a plan for what to do about Teave. He closes the hatch quietly and slides the Airstream back into place for good measure. It won’t do much if the serum doesn’t work, but he’s still not taking any chances.

“Senior year,” Alex says finally. “That’s the Halloween Trev—Teave was talking about.”

“Senior year?” Michael questions. “You met him _all_ the way back _then?_ ”

Alex nods, “So did you. He was at Morgan Myers’s party.”

“He was?”

With a sigh, Alex runs his fingers through his hair and turns around, “You really don’t remember?”

Michael shakes his head, “No. I barely remember that night at all. I remember …getting to the party, talking to you guys. You were Eric Draven. Kyle …Kyle did something shitty, right? So you left and then …I remember talking to some girl.”

“And that’s all? _Nothing_ else?”

“Not really,” Michael shrugs. “I woke up at Max’s, he told me you found me passed out in the street and took me there.”

Alex shifts awkwardly, “Okay, well, here’s the thing …that’s not, _entirely_ how it happened.”

“What d’you mean?”

At that moment, Max’s jeep pulls up and he rushes out, “Michael! Alex! What’s going on?”

“Are you guys okay?” Liz asks, just a step behind Max.

“Hang on, a second,” Michael answers them, holding out his hand to silence further questions. “What the hell are you talking about, Alex?”

“It can wait, Guerin,” Alex replies, turning to Max and Liz.

“No it fucking can’t!” Michael exclaims.

Of course Isobel chooses that moment to arrive and hurries over, panic in her every movement, “What happened? What’s the emergency?”

“That can _wait,_ ” Michael insists. “Alex, finish—”

“Trevor is an alien,” Alex blurts, cutting Michael off.

As the three of them stare at Alex in stunned silence, Michael feels the fire burn out inside of him. He wants to keep pushing, to find out exactly what part of his drunken black out over a decade ago involves having met Teave that night. And why Alex has spent so long lying about the whole incident, letting Michael believe Alex just happened to stumble upon him passed out. What could possibly have happened that has Alex so nervous right now? So reluctant to talk about it? Sure, Alex has always been hesitant when it comes to sharing personal things, but this affects Michael too. He’s never been one to hold back when it involves someone else’s wellbeing, meaning something big must have happened. Michael _needs_ to know.

But he can’t push now. He can practically taste the horror awakening in Liz, Max and Isobel at this new turn of events. He’s no mind reader, but he can imagine they’re all reliving every moment of their battle against Noah. The years of manipulation and abuse he put Isobel through. The way he taunted Max with scraps of maybe-true information and tried to kidnap the two of them. The night he broke into the Crashdown and tried to murder Liz. The hospital shooting. The entire ordeal at the gala. Noah had been responsible for so much pain their lives, how can they be sure Teave wasn’t also? They could’ve been working together, even.

And then Michael realizes. The murder barn. The murder barn was _Teave’s_ hideout. The luxurious little room beneath it and storing acetone in wine bottles of all things fits him perfectly. And the photographs. _The photographs._ No wonder Alex is so unsettled. It’s not just the discovery that Trevor is really an alien, or that he’d apparently tried to harm Michael years ago. It’s the harrowing revelation that for years he’d been in the hands of his own stalker and hadn’t even known it. He must be feeling exactly what Isobel felt when she learned the truth about Noah. Just once, Michael thinks, it’d be nice to meet a member of his own species that isn’t either a captive or a monster.

Isobel speaks first, almost scoffing in disbelief, “I’m _sorry?_ ”

“It’s true, Iz,” Michael confirms. He takes Alex’s hand and gives it a firm squeeze, hoping to convey a silent apology for not realizing how shaken he really is. “He tried to attack us today.”

“Oh my God,” Isobel gasps, “are you okay?”

“Are you hurt?” Liz asks at the same time.

Michael shakes his head, “No, no, we’re fine. Alex got him with the pollen. He’s in the bunker now, we tied him up and dosed him with Liz’s serum.”

“We need to get him into a pod, then,” Max says. 

“Or,” Michael suggests, “we could just _not_ do that. Take Flint up on that offer to hide the body.”

“Michael,” Max says, “if he’s one of us, he might be able to actually give us some answers.”

“That’s what I said about Noah,” Michael reminds him. “But _you_ said he was too dangerous and we couldn’t trust him and we should just let him die. And guess what Max? For fucking _once,_ you were totally right. So this time I’m gonna take a page out of your book.”

“What do _you_ think, Alex?” Isobel asks. It’s not hard to tell why she feels he should be a part of this decision. “What should we do?”

Alex sighs, “It’s up to you three. If you want answers, this could be your chance, so …”

“Okay, but, what do you _think?_ ” Liz asks, clearly unwilling to let Alex forget how much his opinion matters to them.

“Honestly?” Alex laughs humorlessly. He pulls his hand out of Michael’s and throws his arms up in a dramatic shrug, “Right now, I’m just wondering whether or not I emit some kind of …alien-attracting pheromone.”

“I don’t think that’s a thing,” Liz remarks.

“Then I guess I must be broken, because the only guys interested in me are _literally_ from another planet.”

Each of those words is a shard of glass in Michael’s heart, “Alex …”

“I’m sorry,” Alex says quickly, shaking his head and taking a step back. “I shouldn’t have, I don’t know why I …just forget I said that, okay? That, that isn’t …we, we have things to do.” 

Michael moves toward him, reaching out his hand to touch his shoulder, “Alex—”

“No, no this isn’t about me. We need to work out what we’re going to do about Trevor. I mean Teave. His name is Teave, apparently.”

“Teave?” Max asks before anyone else can say anything. “He just used his real name as a human sounding last name?”

Michael almost turns on him for getting hung up on such an irrelevant detail. It’s probably the least important thing to think about right now. Whether the man’s name is Teave or Trevor, and how he chose his human alias, it doesn’t matter. This man tortured Alex for years, the same way Noah tortured Isobel. Michael can’t think of a single reason Max doesn’t want to just kill him and be done with it. He can’t understand why Max is trying to have a _discussion_ about any of it.

He doesn’t get the chance to say anything about it, though, as Alex immediately responds to Max’s inquiry, his voice somehow more settled by the absurdity of the topic, “Simplicity, you know? A good lie has some truth in it. What I don’t know is how he managed to trick the Air Force the way he did. With the physicals we have to go through and everything? The background checks? The man was a fucking _Major._ ”

“Noah suggested that having multiple powers is common for our people,” Max remarks. “If he was raised to utilize them properly, maybe he has powers like Isobel’s and Noah’s; he could’ve used them to get by.”

“Maybe,” Alex concedes, and Michael understands what Max is doing.

Alex isn’t ready to talk about this. He hadn’t meant to say it, and he’s not ready to delve into it. He hasn’t processed any of this yet, there’s just too much happening for him to have this conversation. Max, unlike the rest of them, seems to have seen that right away. That’s why he’s keeping everything all business, giving Alex something to focus on so he won’t fall apart. It’s working, too, as Alex quickly shifts into airman mode, his outburst put to the side. There will be plenty of time later for them to discuss it later.

***

Alex has been on edge since the moment Trevor— _Teave_ —approached them in the parking lot. He’s been on the verge of a full-blown panic attack since he heard the words “I’m your big brother.” He’d barely held it together long enough to incapacitate Teave and get him to Michael’s bunker. One minute he’s finally putting his life back together, the next he’s living in some cheap Star Wars ripoff.

Trevor has been an alien the whole time. Probably the one responsible for all the photos in the murder barn. He’s been deceiving Alex, using him to get to Michael somehow. Alex can’t figure out why. Teave has more than enough power to target Michael—and Max and Isobel—without using Alex. Is it just his love of mind games? Or just some sort of revenge for Alex’s interference over a decade ago? Whatever the reason, he’s not handling it as well as he should. There’s no excuse for Alex being petty enough to bring up something like his _love life_ when they have a very real problem on their hands. He’ll be forever grateful to Max for being kind enough to steer the conversation right back to the matter at hand.

He’s able to get himself back under control, just in time for both Kyle and Maria to arrive. He and Michael explain the situation, revealing exactly what claims Teave has made. Michael keeps insisting that Teave isn’t his brother, but Alex knows it’s true. It seems so obvious now. The hazel eyes, the dark blonde hair—which Teave once mentioned curls when it grows out—the same smirk, the same damn _hands._ It’s not just in their looks, either; they’re polar opposites, and yet something about them is so very similar. Something otherworldly that Alex can feel, yet can’t quite describe. Like a fire that burns in both of their souls, taken from the same hearth. He can’t believe he didn’t realize it sooner.

“How long do you think he’ll be out for?” Liz asks once the full story is shared.

Alex shrugs, “I don’t know, how do aliens usually respond to severe head trauma?”

“Same as you guys,” Max says, rubbing the back of his head and giving Michael a cold look.

“Then he could wake up any time,” Alex remarks. “So we need to know what we’re doing.”

Max nods, “Yeah. Well, the question is, do we try to get information? Or do we just let him die?”

_“Can_ we just let him die?” Liz asks. “I mean, do we have the _right_ to? He’s a scumbag, but he hasn’t killed anyone.”

“That we _know_ about,” Michael counters. “He’s probably got a list of victims a mile long. He could’ve killed some of those people we all thought Noah killed. Hell, I bet he killed that poor old man who used to own the barn.”

“We don’t have any proof of that, Guerin,” Kyle says. “You’re probably right, but we can’t just go around killing people we don’t like. Even if he is a total monster. We need evidence that he’s a …clear, present threat.”

“With everything we already know about him—” Michael starts.

“Which is _what?_ ” Max questions, cutting him off. “What _do_ we know? That he’s a toxic person? An abusive boyfriend? Probably a stalker? None of those are capital offenses, Michael. No one is calling him a good person, I think we’re all in agreement that he needs to pay for his crimes, but we don’t know if those crimes add up to death being appropriate retribution.”

There’s a tension in Max’s voice that’s not like him. Liz reaches out and rubs his back lightly, a delicate but comforting gesture. The situation isn’t one that can be solved through any kind of justice system; it’s entirely up to them to be the judge, jury, and possibly executioner. Again. That, Alex knows, is what’s bothering Max right now. He’d stayed with Alex for a short time after he and Rosa were rescued from Project Shepherd, and he’d asked Alex about his experiences overseas and how he copes with the violent acts he’d committed. Confided in him that he still has nightmares about Noah. Not just of what Noah did to all of them, but of Max’s own actions. He knows that he was defending himself and his family, that Noah would not have been stopped had they not killed him or sealed him away in a pod forever. They all know that. But it hasn’t made it any easier to deal with in the aftermath.

Because Max doesn’t want to be the kind of person who kills. Not even someone as evil as Noah. They have no way to know if he’d been a good man before becoming trapped while awake in his pod, or if he’d always been cruel and twisted. It makes no difference in the long run, wouldn’t have changed the fact that he needed to face justice, but Max admitted that it still haunts him. _I know it’s fucking cliche,_ he’d said, _but am I_ really _any better than him?_ Alex knew that Max wasn’t just talking about killing Noah, either. He was talking about the innocent girl, loving father, and kindhearted sister whose lives and legacies he so nearly ruined. 

There wasn’t anything Alex could really say to that, except to advise him to keep trying to do better and sit with him in companionable silence. Exactly the same thing Max had done for him in return after what little Alex had told him about his relationship with Teave. It’s an odd friendship, but it’s one based on a deep mutual understanding of one another. Between that and Max’s worries about losing his grip on right and wrong, it’s not surprising that he’s Alex’s number one ally in the “we need to think very carefully about how to proceed” department. Next to Kyle, that is.

“Max’s right, Michael,” Isobel says. 

It’s not a shock that the new and improving Isobel would also be in Alex’s corner, it’s just that Alex sometimes forgets that she’s taken such strides to become a new person. She probably understands how he feels about this better than anyone, it’s so painfully similar to her own nightmare. She hadn’t wanted Noah dead at first either, she’s told him. But—despite her heavy breathing and stiffness—she’s doing her best to stay rational and not let emotion—hers or theirs—cloud their judgment. Therapy helps, he suspects.

She goes on, “You don’t know what it’s like to actually take someone’s life. I mean, okay, technically neither do I, but I _thought_ I did. And it was horrible. It was …I _despised_ myself, I …I tried to symbolically commit suicide.”

“You thought you killed _innocent_ people, Iz,”

“And I thought my serum was going to kill the woman who killed those innocent people,” Liz interjects. “Which still felt awful, even if you were quite convinced otherwise. Even after I injected Noah with it, I felt so disturbed at the thought. In the moment, obviously it was right, but when he was just sitting there and slowly dying? You can’t imagine that, Michael.”

“Okay, so, we have four votes in favor of needing more information before taking action,” Kyle declares in his doctor voice. Alex has never been so glad to hear it. “But we should still hear from everyone, so, Maria?”

“Don’t look at me,” Maria replies, “I’m against the death penalty. Like, he’s evil and I want him to suffer, but …I don’t know, maybe I’m naive. Couldn’t we just leave him in a pod forever?”

“We could stuff him into the broken one,” Michael mutters.

Kyle ignores him, “ _And,_ Alex?”

“I don’t know,” Alex sighs.

He really doesn’t. It’s not that he wants to let Teave off the hook. He’s a bad person, in so many ways. Though he has no evidence of it, he wouldn’t be surprised to learn he’s killed numerous people in cold blood. But he’s Michael’s brother. Whether Michael believes it or not. Alex doesn’t want him to lose another relative, _another_ piece of his life’s puzzle. He doesn’t want yet another alien to die because of him.

Reading him as easily as he always does, Kyle claps his hands together, “Fine. That’s fine, we’re in no rush, because we have the power to put people in stasis. So, I say we stick Trevor or whatever his name is into a pod and take some time to clear our heads. Can we all agree on that?”

Max nods, “We can take my jeep.”

“Fine,” Michael huffs, “but I’m driving. _You_ can ride shotgun, _officer._ ”

Max rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything else as Michael heads back into the bunker. He’s too busy getting his cop-self ready. Michael emerges just a minute later and Teave follows right after. Teave’s movements are restrained, as though Michael is pressing a heavy blanket of power down over him. His expression, however, is as unimpressed as always and there are no signs of fear anywhere. Alex had expected as much, but it still has him concerned. Worried that maybe they aren’t as in control as they’re being led to believe. Teave wouldn’t have revealed himself to them if he hadn’t had a plan, after all. There’s no telling what kind of ace he might have up his sleeve.

He grins at Alex, “That was impressive, little bunny, you actually fooled me.”

“I told you not to talk to him!” Michael snarls.

At the same time, Isobel takes a step forward, ice radiating from her core, “Shut up or I will melt your brain.”

Teave gives her a condescending grin, “Hello, Vilandra. I’ve missed you too.”

Isobel gasps and freezes, a visible shudder running down her spine. Her mouth opens and closes a few times and tears form in her eyes. The bittersweet mix of shock and relief on her face mirrors the expression Michael had worn when Teave first called him Rath. As though they’ve finally had something precious returned to them after being lost for years. Which, in a sense, they have.

Max, all traces of Deputy Evans gone, stares helplessly at his sister, and whispers, “Vilandra …”

“Oh, Zan! You’re here too!” Teave exclaims, feigning surprise. “Rath didn’t say a word about that. What a sweet little family reunion.”

All three of them stare at one another, truly seeing each other for the first time in years. Not one of them can even move, as dreams and memories, fantasies and realities collide and become truth. It’s not answers, but a feeling of _rightness_ descends over them. Has rendered them helpless. Alex wants to speak and break the spell, but who is he to disrupt them? To shatter this moment, when they finally _know._

Ever practical, Liz does so instead. Fearless, she marches up to Trevor, head held high and says, “We’ve injected you with a serum I made last year. It doesn’t just mute your powers, it destroys your body on a cellular level. The breakdown is slow at first, but you’ll feel it soon enough and trust me, it will be painful.”

Teave, intrigued, tilts his head to the side, “Is that right? I didn’t know you had it in you, Lizzie. You should’ve been a Manes.”

“Without the antidote, you’ve got a few hours, _tops,_ ” Liz continues, “before you’re dead. So you can either cooperate, or waste what little time you’ve got left on your little games. Which is it gonna be, pal?”

“Well,” Teave laughs, “by all means. Tell what it is you’d like me to do in order to earn this antidote of yours.”

Liz nods towards Max’s jeep, “Just get your ass in the damn car.”

Teave snorts in amusement and shrugs his shoulders, unconcerned by Liz’s threat. Still, he begins walking toward Max’s jeep as she said to. He doesn’t make it more than a few steps before he suddenly grabs his head and groans in pain. His legs give out and as he topples over, Alex has to fight the instinct to rush to his side and help him. Based on the way Kyle flinches, he does too. Doctor's instincts, he supposes.

“Fucker,” Isobel spits, glaring at the now unconscious Teave. “That’ll keep his mouth shut for at least a little while.”

Kyle looks at her, wide-eyed, “You did that?”

“I …” Isobel hesitates. “I think …Vilandra did.”

“I thought Vilandra was _you?_ ” Kyle asks.

“She is. I am. It’s like, I don’t know how to explain it,” Isobel replies.

“It’s like a whole other part of you just woke up,” Max states. “I feel it too. As soon as he said our names, I felt it.”

“What’s in a name?” Michael questions sarcastically. “Apparently, a lot, _Bill.”_

“Do you remember anything new?” Liz asks.

Max shakes his head, “No, it’s just a feeling. But look, we shouldn’t dwell on this right now. We need to get him into a pod so we can actually have the _time_ to discuss it.” 

They take a moment to sort out what exactly everyone is going to do next. Liz—having lost her ride now that Max is heading out into the desert—leaves with Maria, planning to make more of her antidote so it’ll be ready if they decide they need it. Alex zip ties Teave’s hands behind his back and Michael shoves him into the back of Max’s jeep. Since Michael has already demanded to be the driver, Max insists that Alex ride shotgun while he sits in the back to keep an eye on Teave. Uncertain of how long Teave will be unconscious and unwilling to take any chances, Isobel rides with Kyle behind them.

“I gotta say,” Max admits a few minutes into the ride, “when you said there was a Noah-like emergency, this is not what I expected.”

“I said it was a Noah-level problem,” Michael replies. “Get your story straight, Max, those kinds of details can blow this whole operation.”

He’s trying to be funny. Trying to lighten the mood. Alex appreciates it. He thinks Max does too, if the small smile and playful eyeroll is anything to go by. It doesn’t work, but they appreciate it.

“What I don’t get is why would he spend years taking pictures of you when you were already with him,” Max says.

Alex shakes his head, “I don’t pretend to understand _anything_ he does.”

It's another thing he should've noticed sooner. Trevor always loved taking pictures of him.

Michael grips the steering wheel tighter, his face hard, and asks, “What’d he do on Halloween?”

Alex looks out the window instead of at Michael, fingers combing through his hair. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He knows he has to tell the story. There’s no reason to keep it a secret anymore. It affects Michael—and Max and everyone else—just as much as it affects him. And it contains one very important detail that they all need to know immediately. But it’s not a night he likes to think about, for a number of reasons. He’d always hoped that Michael remembered at least some of it—suspected that _most_ was blank—and had simply chosen not to talk about it. But if Michael really knows _nothing_ about what happened that night, Alex needs to tell him.

He glances behind them at Teave—slumped over and temporarily unthreatening—and then at Max’s questioning face, then finally looks back at Michael, “First thing you need to know is, he might not be the only other alien around here.”

“How do you know that?” Max asks.

“Do you remember the Halloween party, senior year?” Alex asks in return.

Max’s face falls, “The woman. The woman Michael was with, you’re talking about _her,_ aren’t you?”

Alex nods, “That’s the one.”

Michael looks at Alex, at Max in the mirror, then back at Alex, “Wait, what?”

“Watch the road, please,” Alex says. 

“I knew something was off about her,” Max mutters. “I fucking _knew_ it. She gave me the creeps, but I didn’t say anything because I was like ‘oh that never happens to guys.’ How fucking _stupid_ could I have been?”

“You were seventeen, Max,” Alex replies.

“Can you guys fucking fill me in here?” Michael questions. “I barely remember talking to this chick, how d’you know she was an alien?”

“Because, Michael,” Alex says gently, “she and Teave tried to kidnap you.”

_“What?”_

“Okay,” Max says, “that I didn’t know.”

“I was walking home,” Alex explains. “And I heard people talking, and something just felt off, you know? So I checked it out, and there you were Guerin, with these two people I’d never seen before. I mean, I saw you talking to the woman at the party, but I’m not counting that. I could tell you weren’t right; you, you were slurring your words and, and crying and the guy was practically dragging you.”

“Teave?”

Alex nods, “Yeah. I realized you were drugged, and they were about to put you in this creepy, shady-looking rape van.”

“What kind of van?” Max interrupts.

“The serial killer kind, Max,” Alex states. “It was dark, I was scared, you think I remember?”

“Right, right. Sorry. Go on.”

“I ran over to try and stop them,” Alex continues. “I …they were …intimidating. Everything about them was just terrifying. I tried to convince them to let you go, but they just …they just laughed at me. Told me to leave. For a second, I thought maybe I should leave and try to get help; I knew I couldn’t deal with them by myself. I mean, they were, they were _toying_ with me.”

He shudders, remembering the moment when things had turned physical. How the man he now knows was Teave had pinned him, held him helpless. He remembers the murderous glow in his eyes when he threatened him. How scared he’d been. He can still hear the pathetic echoes of his own whimpering. For years he’s believed that he’d been frozen with fear, but now he has to wonder if perhaps it was Teave’s powers holding him in place.

“How did you get away?” Max asks.

“I,” Alex pauses, unsure of how much to tell. The pertinent information already revealed, he decides to just skip right to the end, “Teave turned his back to me, so I hit him over the head with a rock. It distracted them long enough for me to grab Guerin and run.”

“Then why did you tell Max you found me in the _street?_ ” Michael questions.

“I don’t know,” Alex replies, “I was seventeen. And scared. I thought you’d be, I don’t know, embarrassed, or something. I figured if you wanted anyone to know what happened you’d tell them yourself. I didn’t know you didn’t remember _any_ of it.”

“That was quite a night,” Teave comments suddenly, making them all jump. He hadn’t lifted his head or even opened his eyes, but he’s grinning now, enjoying their reactions.

“How long have you been awake?” Max asks.

“Rape van,” Teave replies, straightening himself. “But that’s not accurate, Alex; incest is not something we condone on Antar.”

Max pauses the way Michael had upon hearing the name of his home planet. For an instant, he almost looks distressed, like he feels blasphemous at having forgotten it.

Alex pushes the conversation on, hoping to distract him from that, “Since you’re up and we’ve still got a ways to go, why don’t you clear up a few details for us. Why did you and your girlfriend try to kidnap Michael that night?” 

“Girlfriend? Oh, you mean Poplital,” Teave laughs, “Sweet little bunny, are you jealous? She was just a means to an end, my love, nothing you need to worry about.”

Alex doesn’t take the bait, “Answer the question.”

Teave rolls his eyes, “A test, sweetheart. It was just a test. A test that you failed _miserably,_ Rath. You couldn’t detect danger when it was right in front of you, you let your guard down because a pretty face smiled at you. And you did no better, Zan. You’re a _disgrace,_ both of you.”

“But you still tried to take Michael,” Max points out.

“Politics,” Teave says, “is something you clearly have little grasp of. Ironic, given the three of you were seriously considered for the throne. I can still hear them all, ‘oh, Rath is so clever’ and ‘Zan is so compassionate’ and ‘Vilandra is so meticulous.’ How wretched it would be if any of you took the throne.”

“ _Throne?_ ” Max questions. “Are you …are you saying we’re _royalty?_ ”

“Oh, yeah,” Michael laughs nervously, “did we forget the part where he called himself a prince?”

“And we, we really _are_ family?” Max asks. He doesn’t mean them and Teave. He means the three of them.

“Our mothers were sisters,” Teave says. “That’s what made taking Rath useful. What would’ve made _all_ of you useful. You see, unlike humans, we don’t have petty squabbles among family members for the throne. The head of household from each royal family is eligible for the throne. They can choose to pass that eligibility to someone else, or keep it. But _no one_ questions the head of household, just like no one questions the Crown.”

Michael glares at him through the mirror, “What does that have to do with _us?_ You saying one of us is eligible for the throne?”

Teave snickers, “Of course not. As far as anyone knows, I’m the only surviving member of our family. The sole heir to House Esmarch. I had to do quite a lot to restore our good name after Mother and Aunt Ava’s roles in trying to overthrow the Queen. I’ve regained my good standing, and as the new head of household, I’m eligible for the throne.”

“Again,” Michael says, “ _what_ does that have to do with _us?_ ”

“Patience, Rath,” Teave scolds. 

“If you don’t—”

“Guerin,” Alex cuts in. “Just …”

He trails off, but Michael seems to get what he’s saying. Alex has been through this many, many times before. Teave _loves_ to fill the air with the sound of his voice. And he loves to force others to listen to it by taking as long as possible to answer their questions. Interrupting him will only drag it out further.

He goes on, “The Crown doesn’t usually select a member of their own family to take over. It’s not illegal, but it _is_ frowned upon. It really only happens when the other candidates fail to prove themselves worthy. There are plenty of stages on which a potential heir may prove themselves, but none so important as how well they rule over their own household.”

“And you don’t have a household to rule,” Alex realizes.

They’re a little more than halfway to the caves now, out in the middle of the desert.

Teave smirks at him, “Right you are, bunny. Hence, my visit here. I intended to bring you three back, perhaps see if the planet was worth conquering. It’s not, by the way. The three of you were young enough that you couldn’t be held responsible for our parents’s actions, so I thought I’d take you home and demonstrate my ability to rule over a household. I’d _hoped_ you’d also be _actively_ useful to me, in gaining the upper hand over the other royal families, but that’s clearly not the case.”

“You’re telling me,” Michael says, “you pulled all of this because you want to be _king?_ ”

“That’s right,” Teave answers. “Now, anymore oh-so _pressing_ questions?”

Max huffs, “Only a _lot._ ”

“That’s rather irritating,” Teave comments.

“Why? You got something else you need to do?” Michael mocks.

Teave smirks in a way that has alarms blaring wildly in Alex’s head, “As a matter of fact, I do. And there _is_ something you should know.”

Max regards him cautiously, “What’s that?”

Alex starts reaching into his jacket pocket, but he’s not fast enough.

“I already knew about the serum.”

The car jerks to the side, the steering wheel moving despite Michael’s attempt to stop it. It rolls, and for an instant Alex’s vision turns black. When it returns, he’s on this back beside the overturned jeep. His body hurts and he can’t move much. He can’t tell if Michael and Max are hurt. But he can hear Isobel shouting for an instant, then a scream. He tries to force his limbs to move, but he can’t get far. A shadow appears over him, blocking the bright light of the sun. He blinks, trying to focus, and hopes to see Kyle or Isobel standing over him. Hopes to see anyone but … 

“You really thought I hadn’t taken a good, long look inside your head, little bunny?” Teave mocks. “I had to know how you took care of that heathen, after all. Very clever, by the way, using my old hideout for your cover story.”

“What did …you do?” Alex groans.

“I swapped out your syringe while you were sleeping, months ago. You’ve been carrying around saline.”

“You …you …” Alex pants, unable to get much out through the pain.

“You’ll be fine,” Teave says.

He crouches down beside Alex and begins to lift him. Hand bloody from the broken glass of the bottle, Alex throws the last of the pollen in his face. Teave jerks away and swears, wiping angrily at his face. He growls something Alex can’t understand and grabs Alex’s throat. Alex can do nothing but try in vain to turn his head away as Teave forces their lips together.

And just as suddenly, the kiss breaks and Teave is off him. There’s shouting. Men’s voices. Squinting through the light, Alex can see Kyle slam Teave against the jeep. He’s never been so grateful to see Kyle Valenti throw a punch in his life. And it’s the last thing he sees before the blackness returns.


	16. Dark Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After escaping an attempted abduction, Alex becomes entangled in Antar's political affairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I realize that some of you were really hoping this chapter would pick up where last week's left off, but that part is only partially written so I appreciate your continued patience! 
> 
> Today's chapter instead picks up right after chapter eight (a very unusual human)  
> TW for psychological torture, dehumanization and consent issues.

The muzzle hurts his face, its straps tighter than the ones on the harness Teave had put him in months ago as they bite into his skin. A thick plate curves over the lower half of his face, pressing down on his lips and cheeks and muffling any attempt at sound. Much like the first harness, one of its straps holds his chin in place to keep him from trying to open his mouth, but this time there’s nothing between his teeth and they’re pressed together so forcefully he’s sure they’re going to break from the pressure.

The shackles around his wrists hurt almost as much, so tight he thinks they must be cutting off the circulation to his hands. A thick chain connects them and fixes them to the floor behind him, not even leaving him enough space to sit upright. The chain binding his ankle is even worse, forcing his left leg to stay bent painfully behind his back. It’s going to be some time before he’ll be able to put weight on it again.

He tugs against his bonds but there’s no give. They’re just as strong as the ones that held him down on the day he’d been branded. He can’t get free of them. He can’t do anything but wait. Wait for Teave to come and get him. It won’t be too long, Alex is sure of that much. The guard had dragged him—and the poor, innocent family that had helped him—back to the Upper Ring and into a particularly imposing fortress. Alex had been separated from Quire and her family, stripped of his clothes and his prosthetic, and locked away. Here in this empty, dark room.

That was two hours ago, by his count. By now Teave has definitely been notified of his location. There’ll be hell to pay when he comes, but Alex isn’t concerned about that at the moment. He just needs Teave to get here and take this awful thing off his face so he can explain what happened. That he hadn’t run away. More importantly, that Quire and her children had done nothing wrong. They’d helped him. They don’t deserve to be in prison for that. He needs to convince Teave to release them, fast.

He doesn’t like to imagine any of them in the same predicament he’s in. They’re just innocent people who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. They’d helped him, when they didn’t need to. First Tahbos, just a child, had tried so hard to protect him, then went to find people he knew could. And Quire had sent Coles, Everan, and Ronium—her own children—to help him. She may have looked down on him at first, but she’s not a bad person. Neither she nor her family has done anything deserving of this punishment.

There’s slime on the floor, cold and wet against his skin. The redhead will no doubt scold him when she has to scrub it off of him when he gets back to the castle. He hopes it’ll be soon. It’s been five hours already. Or has it only been four? No, five, definitely five. Teave is taking his sweet time on purpose, just to make Alex suffer. He’s probably somewhere close, watching him somehow.

He tries to sleep through the wait but he can’t get Quire and her family from his mind. Especially Tahbos. He’s just a child. Surely they haven’t chained him up like this too? Alex tugs at the chains again, making a show of it. Maybe someone will come in to scold him. He’ll take whatever punishment Teave has planned for him if it means he can spare the family this torture. 

Maybe it’s just him. Maybe as Antarans, Quire’s family is above being left like this. Maybe Alex, as a human, is the only one they want to see suffer this way. He wants to believe that, but he’s not quite optimistic enough to. It would be just like Teave to let that innocent family pay for what he _thinks_ Alex has done. And to make him wait eleven, maybe twelve hours now.

He groans, his body cramped and aching. This is undeniably the worst thing he’s had to endure on this planet. At least when he’d been caged at Teave’s castle, the chains binding him hadn’t been this short. He’d been able to move around, at least a little bit. He hadn’t been held in one position for hours and hours. And he’d been able to see.

He can’t see anything in this cell. It’s pitch black. The darkness is almost oppressive. He can’t even make out the shape of his own body. Were it not for the constant soreness running through him, he’d almost forget that he even _has_ a body it’s so damn dark in here.

He hopes Tahbos isn’t afraid of the dark. He doesn’t know if that’s a common fear among Antaran children the way it is among humans. He hopes not. The idea that that poor little boy could be in a cell just like this one is bad enough, the thought that he could be afraid of the dark already is too much. It’s already been a day and still Teave is making him wait. Making Quire and her family wait. 

Or maybe it hasn’t been a full day yet. Maybe he’s just exaggerating because of how awful he feels. That must be it. He can’t possibly have been in this room for an entire day already. There’s no way Teave would make him wait _that_ long, would he? No, definitely not. He’ll be here soon.

***

Teave will be here soon. Any minute now, Teave is going to come get him. Alex knows that. He does. He just has to stay calm. He’s probably being tested, and the more he struggles the longer it will take for Teave to have him released. So he stops struggling. He lies still. Stops trying to keep track of the time because he’s lost all sense of it.

It’s not possible that the near week he’s sure has passed really has. He wouldn’t still be alive if that much time had really gone by. He hasn’t been given any food or water since being brought here. He’s definitely hungry. And thirsty. Enough that he feels nauseous and his head hurts. His throat is dry. He’s dizzy. But he’s alive. So it can’t have been almost seven days since he’s come here. It can’t.

It’s just the darkness playing tricks on his mind. Making him lose focus. He just needs to ignore it. Find some way to keep himself occupied. Reminding himself that Teave will be here soon, he tries to resume keeping track of time. He resets his counter to zero, then counts the minutes as they pass. One, two, ten, fifteen, thirty. It won’t be long now. Teave will be here soon.

One hour. Two. Four. Seven.

Teave will be here soon.

Counting the time is only making him feel worse. He needs to think about something else. He pictures Quire and Tahbos, tries to imagine them living comfortably in a nice house where they don’t have to worry about food. Comfortable and safe and happy the way they deserve to be. Quire and Tahbos and ...and …

...Coles. Quire and Tahbos and Coles and Everan and Ronium. Quire and Tahbos and Coles and Everan and Ronium. The kind family that helped him. Helped him even though it was dangerous. Helped him and now are suffering such a terrible price. They don’t deserve to be in this place. 

Alex presses his face into the slimy floor, trying to hold back his sob. That poor family is suffering because of him. If he hadn’t tried to escape from those two men—what were their names?—this wouldn’t be happening. Veress. If Alex had just stayed with Veress and the other man, Quire and her family would never have been involved. Orif. If Alex had stayed with Veress and Orif, he’d have been ransomed and that would’ve been the end of it. None of this would be happening. He wouldn’t be here right now. Quire and her children wouldn’t be locked up. He wouldn’t be waiting for Teave to come get him. Teave, who just loves to draw out the torment for as long as he can.

He begins counting again. One minute. Two, five, twenty. 

Teave will be here soon.

***

It hasn’t been a month. It hasn’t. That’s not possible. It can’t have been a month since the day he was dragged into this cell. That doesn't even make sense. He’d have starved by now. Or died of dehydration. He certainly feels starved and dehydrated, but he’s pretty sure he isn’t dead. It’s kind of hard to tell in here. The room is so dark he doesn’t know what’s what anymore. Time is slipping away from him.

He’s miscounting, he has to be. Keeping track of a few hours, losing count, starting over. Accidentally tricking himself into thinking more time has passed than really has. It’s been a day, at most. A day left waiting in the dark, just to make him sweat. Just to soften him up. It’ll be over soon. Teave will be here soon.

Just a little while longer and Alex will be out of here. And then he can explain to Teave what happened and get Quire and her family back to their lives. Quire and Tahbos and the other three. They’ll be okay. They’ll all be okay. Alex too. He’ll be fine. Once Teave gets here and Alex explains what really happened, everything will be okay. Teave will forgive him and everything will go back to the way it was.

He’s not panicking. He’s staying calm and waiting patiently. It’s only discomfort that has him pulling at his chains and if he looks frantic it’s only because he’s really, _really_ uncomfortable. It’s boredom that has him shouting through the muzzle and if he sounds desperate it’s only because he’s really, _really_ bored. It’s not fear. Because he’s not afraid. Just because it’s _so_ dark and he can’t move or speak and doesn’t know how long he’s been here and how much longer it’ll be before Teave comes. Or _if_ Teave is coming.

He shakes his head. Teave is coming. Of course Teave is coming. He wouldn’t just leave Alex here like this. He’d gone through too much trouble to bring him to Antar in the first place, his pride would never let him abandon him now. But he really needs to hurry and get here because even though Alex is _definitely_ not afraid he _is_ very uncomfortable and very bored and the poor sweet family might be afraid and they don’t deserve that.

Quire and Tahbos don’t deserve to be in this nightmare of a place. This dark room. They don’t deserve to suffer just for having been in proximity to Alex. They’re innocent, Quire and Tahbos. And the other three. Good people who deserve only good things. Coles. And Everman and Romium. They shouldn’t be here, any of them. And they won’t be much longer. Teave will be here soon.

***

Alex doesn’t know how long it’s been anymore. He can’t remember the time at all. He tries and tries to get back to keeping track, but the numbers are slipping away faster than he can count them. It’s okay. Teave will be here soon. He has to be. He’ll come to get Alex and punish him for … _something_ and that’s fine because then Alex will be able to tell him about what Quire and her family did for him. Explain that they don’t belong in prison, they’re innocent. Quire and her children. Tahbos. And Coles and Everman and Romium.

It’s just a matter of time. It’s just a matter of waiting. Be patient, he tells himself. It hasn’t even been that long, really. He’s just freaking himself out. He’s getting paranoid and he needs to calm down. There’s nothing hiding in the darkness of this abyssal cell. He didn’t hear something growl just now. He didn’t hear someone laughing, mocking his pain. He’s just tired and sore and bored and he needs to keep his head on to get through this.

Soon. Any second now. Any second now and he’ll be divulging the tale of how he wound up in the city in the first place and then it’ll all be okay. Teave will be here soon.

***

Teave’s not coming. He’s not coming. It’s been so long. So very long. Alex doesn’t know how long exactly, but it’s been long enough that he knows Teave isn’t coming. He’s just going to leave him here. He’s going to leave Alex here forever. Leave him to suffer and die like this, all alone in this hollow, dark room.

Alex yanks at his chains, using his whole body to try and dislodge them. It doesn’t work. He tries to break his thumb and slide his hand free—even though he knows that doesn’t work outside of movies—but it doesn’t work either, because that doesn’t actually work. Nothing he does helps. He can’t get free. He can’t help Quire and her family any more than he can help himself.

The muzzle muffles his voice as he cries, unable to do anything else.

***

“Four months and four days.”

Alex nearly screams when the voice cuts through the darkness. He knows that voice better than he knows his own. But it can’t be. He whips his head around frantically, trying to find the source.He can’t see anything at all. The darkness doesn’t let him. Voice still muffled, he cries out, desperate for a response. When none comes, he whimpers and sobs, face pressed into the floor. He’s just hearing things again.

There’s nothing here. Nothing but him and the darkness. He has to remind himself of that sometimes, when he starts to hear noises that aren’t really there. Hears all sorts of monsters and demons and creatures that watch and mock him. They’re not real, it’s just his mind playing tricks on him. He knows that, most of the time. Other times he spirals into panic until he wears himself out and has no strength left to even feel fear.

Not right now. Right now he knows better. It’s just a room. An endlessly dark room with nothing in it but Alex. Alex and the darkness. Darkness that is just that, darkness. The absence of light. It’s not living. It’s not trying to hurt him. It’s not devouring him alive. It’s not … 

“Four months and four days.”

This time Alex does scream. He looks up and for the first time in too long he can actually see something besides the darkness. His heart tries to claw its way to freedom. To escape the hideous cavity he keeps it locked in and make its way to its real home. 

Sitting cross legged in front of him, Michael smiles, “That’s how long you’ve been in here. Four months and four days.”

Michael. Here. It’s impossible, yet it’s happening. He’s here. Michael’s here. Alex sobs out his name, the only word he can recall, and hates how the muzzle won’t even let him say it properly.

He doesn’t understand. How can Michael be here? He has no way to get to Antar and it’s not safe for him. Being on Antar means being dragged into the danger of the High Court’s political battles and competition for the throne, at best. At worst it means death. Or ...this. This dark room, full of nightmares and misery. Michael shouldn’t be in here, he should be safe on Earth. Unless …

Teave did this. He brought Michael here. Took him captive, has locked him up to punish Alex for breaking the deal. But he didn’t. Alex didn’t break the deal. He didn’t try to run away, he was taken. He didn’t break any rules, didn’t mean for it to happen. But that’s what Teave thinks happened and now Michael is here paying for it. Michael is paying for Alex’s mistake, for his trying to escape those men by himself instead of waiting for Teave to come get him. Now Teave isn’t coming and Michael is here, trapped in this darkness, and it’s all Alex’s fault.

He has to get out. He has to get free of these chains and the muzzle and tell Teave what happened. He can’t let Michael pay for this. Michael and Quire and Tahbos. And ...and ...Cole? Cole and ...Everette and Romy. They’re in pain, they’re trapped, all of them, because of Alex. He has to get out.

“Woah, settle down there, darlin’,” Michael laughs. Alex can only whine in return. How can Michael be laughing at a time like this? “You’re just gonna hurt yourself like that.”

Alex doesn’t understand why Michael would be concerned about something so trivial at a time like this. Doesn’t he understand what’s happening? How dire their situation is? Has he been brainwashed? Or is the trauma causing him to focus on the wrong thing?

“Shh,” Michael soothes, reaching out for him, “I’m here, darlin’, it’s okay now.”

In spite of everything Alex leans in to the touch when Michael strokes his hair. He nuzzles his face against Michael’s strong hand, relishes the gentle warmth of his touch and ...oh. Right. Of course.

It’s not Michael. Not the real Michael, anyway. He’s just a hallucination, his touch a phantom made from Alex’s memory. It doesn’t hold the same warmth the real Michael radiates. Alex leans into it anyway. How can he not? An imaginary Michael is still Michael. An imaginary Michael is better than nothing at all.

Cupping Alex’s face, the phantom Michael whispers softly, “It’s alright. Everything’s gonna be just fine, baby.”

He lays down beside Alex, both hands holding his face tenderly. It all makes sense now. Alex can’t believe he didn’t realize it before. It’s not the first time he’s felt so lost, so alone and afraid that his imagination ran wild and created a fake Michael to comfort him. It happened just once before, when he’d been buried in rubble, battered and burnt and certain he’d be dead long before anyone could reach him. Even so he’d tried his best to convince the rest of his team that they’d all be okay, that help would be there soon, they just had to hold on. But one by one they’d all slipped away, and Alex—pinned down by debris and barely breathing—had been helpless to save them. 

And then it was just him, the last man alive, waiting for the reaper’s grip to claim him. For an instant he’d thought the spectre of Michael _was_ death. He’d been okay with that. More than okay with it. But the phantom Michael hadn’t taken Alex to the afterlife, hadn’t pulled his soul from his body to give to heaven or hell or anyplace in between. He’d just lain with him, like he is now. Whispering soft nothings, soothing him, comforting him. Loving him. Because the only way Michael can possibly love Alex now is in his imagination.

“You’re so brave, darlin’, you know that?” the phantom asks. He leans closer, brushes his lips over the muzzle. “I know it hurts, but you’re doing _so_ good. You just keep holding on, okay?”

Alex whimpers and sobs, but does as his phantom tells him and holds on.

***

Michael comes and goes. When he’s here, he lays beside Alex and cups his face. Or holds him from behind. He kisses him and tells him how strong and how brave he is for enduring this hell. Reminds him _why_ he’s enduring this, why he needs to hold on. There’s an innocent family who’s suffering just as much as Alex—worse, even, since _they_ haven’t done anything—and needs his help. He needs to keep his mind in order and tell Teave what happened. Because Teave will be here. Eventually. He will.

When he’s gone, Alex cries and screams and begs for him to come back. He struggles against his bonds with everything he has, unsure if he’s trying to escape or die. He’s not sure there’s a difference, really. Not when he’s going to be locked in this darkness for the rest of his life. Not when there’s an innocent family that he can’t save. Because Teave isn’t coming for him.

When Michael is here, Alex knows he can get through this. He’s strong enough. He’s brave enough. He remembers what he’s holding onto, why he _needs_ to get through this. 

When Michael isn’t here, Alex knows that’s a lie. He’s not strong or brave. He can’t get through this. It’s all too much and he’s too small and useless. He remembers that Michael was never really here with him, it was only his delusions. His broken mind clinging to something that was never truly his.

Michael’s appearances slowly become more sporadic, his disappearances longer and more frequent. Alex knows one day he won’t come back. Even in Alex’s own mind, eventually Michael will realize how pathetic Alex is and won’t want him anymore. And then Alex will be alone with nothing but the darkness. Forever.

Death would be easier.

***

Michael has been gone for days—or months or years or maybe hours, Alex doesn’t honestly know the difference anymore—when he hears a sound that he knows isn’t just his imagination. It can’t be, because it’s a sound he’s given up on ever hearing. One even his fractured mind wouldn’t dare to hallucinate. The unmistakable sound of a key in a lock. A door opening. He doesn’t believe it. Can’t believe it.

But it’s true. There’s a door opening somewhere close enough for him to hear it, the first sound he’s heard outside his head since coming here. And it’s the most wondrous, glorious sound he’s ever heard. He doesn’t even know if it's the door to his cell. It might have nothing to do with him. But now he knows for sure that there’s still life outside these walls, that there’s something beyond the darkness.

And then there’s light. Painful and blinding and burning. His eyes slam shut and well with tears and he flinches from it but that doesn’t matter. It’s there. It’s light. It still exists. And pain or no, he gets to bask in it. For an instant, anyway. It’s gone as quickly as it came as the door slams shut again. Footsteps follow. He whips his head around, trying to find the source as they echo about the room. He can’t find it, not even a shadowed figure. All he can do is wait as the footsteps draw closer. He doesn’t even know if he should be afraid or not. It doesn’t matter. Anything this person might do to him is better than this.

The footsteps stop, and he can feel the person standing over him. There’s a heavy sigh above him, “You just _had_ to run away, didn’t you?”

Alex sobs with relief. He may not be able to see him, but he’d recognize Teave’s smooth voice anywhere. Even with the ice cold fury behind it, it brings Alex joy to hear it. He’s angry, just as Alex expected him to be. But he’s here. He’s here at last and maybe, just maybe he can save those people who helped him. Maybe this nightmare will finally end.

“I’ve given you everything. A grand home, literally a castle. All the best finery in the universe. I’ve made you royalty. There’s not a soul on this planet that doesn’t envy you. Who wouldn’t _kill_ to be my betrothed. And this is how you repay me?”

Voice muffled and ineffectual, Alex begs Teave to remove the muzzle so he can explain.

“You be _quiet,_ ” Teave hisses. “I took a tremendous risk by bringing you here. I knew it was dangerous. That people would think I’ve gone mad, wanting to marry an inferior creature. But I thought you were worth it. I was sure I’d prove all the naysayers wrong. Prove that I am capable of turning anyone, even a mindless human, into the perfect consort. I’d show them that _my_ human is good. _My_ human is obedient and proper. And then they’d see. They’d all see why I loved you, why I _had_ to have you.”

With a yelp of shock and pain, Alex is suddenly yanked upward. The chains are gone but he’s paralyzed by the strength of Teave’s mental grip. The muzzle remains in place. He doesn’t care though, not when he can suddenly _see._ Teave’s face is hard and dangerous, yet Alex still prefers it to the darkness. No amount of Teave’s wrath could hurt more than the darkness.

“I knew it wouldn’t be easy,” He goes on. “You’ve always been stubborn and willful. I’ve been lenient, forgiven you for that, because it’s something I love about you. Training you is like trying to control a forest fire. And I admit, I always thought you’d wind up in here eventually. But I never imagined it’d be for _treason._ ”

Alex whimpers, tries to shake his head. He didn’t commit treason. He didn’t mean to do _anything._

“Don’t you cry at me. All the trouble you’ve caused and you think you can cry at me and make it better? Think you’re going to make me forgive you if you cry? Maybe just one year in the Dark Room isn’t _enough_ for you to learn your lesson.”

Alex’s heart stops. A year. He’s been in this room for a year. How can that be? An entire year without food or water, yet he’s still alive. What would happen if Teave hadn’t come for him? How long could he stay alive in this place? Another year? Ten? Twenty? Fifty? Forever?

“Maybe you _are_ too stupid to be trained. _Maybe_ I should just _leave_ you here and be done with you.” 

The threat draws a desperate cry from Alex’s sealed mouth. _No,_ his mind begs, _anything but that. Torture me, kill me, just_ please _don’t leave me here._

“I _told_ you to be _quiet._ ” Teave snarls. He shakes his head, “I need to find a way to save face. Right now I’m the laughing stock of the High Court. My chance at the throne is _gone._ And that’s because of _you._ It’s all _your fault.”_

Alex clenches his teeth, biting back the apologies that wouldn’t make a difference even if he could actually speak them. There’s nothing he can do to calm Teave’s rage. Nothing he can do but hope for some kind of miracle.

“I never _wanted_ to see you like this,” Teave sighs, glancing downward.

Alex follows his gaze and nearly screams again when he sees his own body on the floor, still chained. He snaps his eyes back to Teave, both terrified and confused by what he’s just seen.

“I’m in your head,” Teave explains. “No one else can hear us. There’s to be a tribunal today, for the family that harbored you. As your keeper, I’ve been sent to determine whether you ought to be tried as well or simply put down.”

There’s an odd relief in knowing that he could be put to death rather than kept here any longer. But that won’t help the family. They need to be spared any further punishment. Have they been kept in the dark for a year too? And what about his family on Earth? Will Teave go after them now? _Has_ he gone after them? Whatever’s happened outside these walls in the last year, Alex needs to save his loved ones from it no matter what.

“I’ve put so much work into you. Years and years of my best efforts, all for you,” Teave continues. “So I’m going to give you one chance. You have one minute to convince me that you deserve a second chance. One minute, Alex, or I am going to crush your beating heart and have that be the end of it. Do you understand me?”

Alex sobs, uncertain he’ll even be able to get a single word out in his state, but nods.

Teave reaches out and touches the muzzle. It dissolves under his touch and melts off of Alex’s face, “Go.”

Gasping, Alex whimpers, “Please, please ...don’t hurt them. The, the family. Please, Teave, please, they didn’t do anything.”

“What are you _talking_ about?”

“The family. The family, they didn't do anything. They, they helped me.”

“I _know_ they helped you, Alex,” Teave growls, “that’s the _problem._ If you hadn’t run away, they wouldn’t be here.”

Alex shakes his head, “No! I didn’t! I didn’t run away, I _swear._ I, I was taken! There were these two men, they grabbed and they dragged me onto the train! The family, they saved me from them. They were going to help me get back to you. They didn’t do anything wrong, _please_ don’t hurt them.”

Teave clicks his tongue, “Taken? You expect me to believe that someone broke into _my_ castle and just _took_ you?”

“It’s true,” Alex sobs.

“No one would be foolish enough to try and steal what’s _mine._ Don’t you dare lie to me.”

“But it’s true!” Alex cries. He swallows, trying to calm himself. He’s had years of training to stay focused during the most intense situations. He needs to draw on every second of it now. There’s no time to be a mess, no matter how horrific the last year has been. Time is running out and innocent lives depend on him. He takes a deep breath, steadies his voice, “They said something about wanting to overthrow the Collective. They must’ve thought they could use me as leverage to get to you.”

“They spoke to you?” Teave questions.

“Not at first,” Alex explains. “I got away from them, and then I ran into the little boy. He was hurt, so I stopped to help him but then they caught up to me. The boy tried to protect me, but he couldn’t. Then one of the guys went into my head and told me if I cooperated they wouldn’t hurt him. So I did.”

“And you just happened to escape a second time? That seems like quite a task, even for you.”

Alex shakes his head, “No, no it was the boy. He went and got his family. They rescued me and brought me to their house. The mother, um, uh ...Quile, or no, _Quire,_ she said she could get into contact with a servant in the High Court so you could find out what happened and where I was.”

“I take it, that's when the guard arrived?” Teave asks.

“Yes.”

“The guard you _attacked?_ ”

“He was _hurting_ them. I was just trying to make him stop. I didn’t mean any harm, Teave, I swear it. I just didn’t want those people getting hurt because of me.”

Teave snickers, “That _does_ sound like you. Alright, let’s say I believe you. How did these men get into the castle?”

“A guard,” Alex says. He can’t believe he’d forgotten such an important detail. For a whole year that man’s been going about his life, completely unconcerned with his role in getting an innocent family thrown in prison. “One of the guards helped them.”

“That is a _very_ serious accusation, Alex,” Teave points out.

“I know,” Alex agrees. That would be the case even on Earth, anyone would know that. “He shoved me outside the wall and then they came out of the train and grabbed me. I’m sorry, I know I should’ve just stayed put and waited for you in the first place, but I wasn’t thinking. I just ...escape was an instinct.”

“That _also_ sounds like you, I admit. You know, you can’t lie in the mindscape,” Teave comments. “But that doesn’t mean everything has to be entirely honest. There are other ways to deceive someone without telling a direct lie.”

“I’m not lying,” Alex promises.

Teave pauses for a moment, thoughtful, then says, “Then show me. Picture it in your mind, all of it, from the moment the guard shoved you.”

Alex does as he’s told. He tries to conjure up the memory. It comes in surprisingly vividly, for something that happened a year ago. Maybe because Teave is inside his mind, or because the significance of the moment imprinted deeply enough to be recalled so clearly. Or maybe even both. Whatever the reason, he can see everything again with such clarity it’s hard to believe it’s a memory and not a movie.

Teave is silent, pensive, as he watches. He recognizes the guard, Alex can tell, but doesn’t let on what he’s thinking. He doesn’t recognize either of the men who took Alex, but still doesn’t give any of his thoughts away. Until they reach the moment when Alex noticed their tattoos. 

“Stop,” he orders. “Focus on that, just that.”

Alex keeps the image in his mind, picturing the tattoos and nothing else.

“You don’t know what that is,” Teave comments. It’s not a question, so Alex doesn’t respond. “You _are_ telling the truth.”

Relief courses through Alex’s entire being. He’s never heard sweeter words in his life.

“Oh,” Teave reaches out and cups his face. Alex leans into the touch; it may be in his mind, but it’s the first contact he’s had in a year from someone who’s actually here—sort of. “My poor, sweet little bunny. You must have been so frightened. So _confused._ First a guard helps those bad men steal you from your nice, safe home. Then those nice people save you and _another_ guard tries to hurt _them._ No wonder you attacked him. How could you have known any better? You were just _scared._ ”

Teave’s words aren’t meant to comfort him. They’re his plan for damage control. They’re an order. And Alex doesn’t need to be told twice.

“Don’t you worry, little bunny,” Trevor says. “You just be a good boy and show them how those men took you, and then how that nice family rescued you. Then I’ll take you home and everything will be okay. You can forget all about what a terrible, horrible day you had yesterday.”

Alex freezes, “Y-yesterday?”

Teave clicks his tongue, “Poor bunny, I forgot to explain about the Dark Room. It’s reserved for crimes against the High Court. It’s not really _a_ room, actually. It can be any room, as long as it’s sealed up and completely dark. And that substance on the floor that you’re laying in? It’s similar to the one used in the pods. Only in this case, your body is affected, but not your mind.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It nourishes you, but just barely,” Teave explains. “Keeps the prisoner who’s chained up in it on the brink of starvation without letting them die.”

That’s not the part Alex doesn’t understand—nor is it the part he cares about—and Teave knows it. “You said,” Alex whispers, “yesterday?”

“Ah, yes, that part. Once the prisoner is secured, their mind is entered and their perception of time distorted. Slowed down, until a day feels like a year. Knowing the truth doesn’t change anything, because their brain still believes time is passing the way it’s been tricked to.”

A shudder runs through Alex. He can imagine plenty of horrific and frankly evil ways to torment someone, but this is too much. 

“A day or two in here and even the strongest mind will break,” Teave continues. “Sometimes it’s used to make a prisoner willing to talk. And other times—rarely, but it happens—they’re left here long term. They can’t die, so they can be left for months or years, each day feeling like a full year. They go crazy, eventually,” he finishes with a shrug. “Then their brains shut down and we finally put them out of their misery.”

If Alex could actually vomit while in the mindscape, he would. How could anyone try to justify something so vile, so atrocious? How can anyone possibly allow something like that to happen and just accept it as _normal?_ No being with even the slightest moral conscience could ever believe that something like this ought to be tolerated. And Teave is speaking about it so calmly, like it’s just a casual conversation topic.

“Oh, _God,_ ” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut.

Teave places his finger over Alex’s mouth and the muzzle reappears, “Shh. Shush now, my love. I know you’re scared and you’re tired, but there’s still work to be done. Someone will be in to get you. So you just do as you’re told and I’ll see you soon.”

Alex opens his eyes and finds himself back on the floor. Back in his chains. Back in the dark. There’s no longer a presence standing over him; Teave is gone. Alex tries to call out for him, but his cry merely falls to the floor of the empty room, unheard by anyone but him.

He forces himself to keep breathing. Teave said he would see him soon. He said he would take him back to his castle. And Teave doesn’t lie. He never lies. Alex just has to wait a little longer.

A little longer feels like hours. But if his perception of time has been altered, those hours could really be minutes, or even seconds. He has no way to know. But just as Teave said, the door opens again—still such a beautiful sound—light floods the room once more. Alex presses his eyes shut against the burn of it, listens to the new set of footsteps coming toward him. When the person reaches him they mutter something to themselves. The voice is rough, sounds like a man’s. The chains fall away suddenly, and Alex’s joints pop loudly as he’s hoisted upward over a broad shoulder.

Closing his eyes isn’t enough to protect them from the light and he has to press his palms over them as well. It leaves him unable to balance himself as the person carries him, and he hangs limply over their shoulder. He tries not to moan in pain every time his sore body is jostled, and the person is far from gentle as they carry him. He doesn’t mind; at the moment he’s just grateful that someone is actually _touching_ him and not using their powers to hold him.

They don’t have far to go before the person drops him to the ground. It’s cold. Feels like marble. He can hear people around him nearby. Slowly Alex opens his eyes, relieved that the room is lit up, but not too bright that it hurts his eyes. It still takes a moment of blinking and rubbing at his eyes for his vision to clear enough for him to actually see anything. He looks up at the person who carried him in and is surprised to find the same guard who dragged him and the others here yesterday.

Remembering what Teave told him, he whimpers and pushes himself backward. When his back hits a wall, he covers himself with his arm. He buries his pride and dignity as they try to awaken. They’re no help right now. He has a role to play and he’ll play it. Lives depend on it. And he has plenty of experience to draw from. Cowering used to be his only defense against his father. It’s surprisingly easy to fall back on it.

“Alex,” Teave’s voice isn’t raised in the slightest, yet it carries boldly around the room.

Alex snaps his head up to find him. The wall he’s pressed against doesn’t go to the ceiling; it’s short enough that were he standing, it wouldn’t be too much higher than his waist. Behind it are five imposing thrones, raised up until they tower over the room. Teave sits on the throne to the far left, wearing a long black double breasted trench coat with large gold buttons. It reaches his knees, exposing his black pants with gold patterns embroidered down the sides. Even from his position on the floor Alex can see several gold rings on his fingers and the plain gold circlet on his head.

The woman in the throne next to Teave’s is dressed identically, as are the man and woman on the two thrones to the right. Alex can’t see the person in the middle; their throne is raised above even the other four and out of his vision. His eyes glued to Teave, he can’t bring himself to try to get a better look.

Alex forces a laugh that sounds relieved even under the muzzle and pulls himself up so he’s leaning over the wall. He reaches out for Teave as though he could actually touch him. He’s dragged back down by the guard’s power and lets out a pitiful whine. Laying facedown on the floor, he stretches his arm out toward Teave, showing off to everyone just how desperate he is to reach him. Teave doesn’t react, but Alex knows him well enough to see that he’s pleased with his performance thus far.

Someone—the person on the middle throne, he thinks—is giving commands. It’s a woman’s voice, and Alex suspects that she might be the queen. He’s yet to actually meet her, but her voice carries such authority that he can’t imagine she could be anyone else.

He doesn’t have a chance to look up before the guard grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks his head back. A metal collar is locked around his neck, extending from his jawbone to his collar bone and he can barely move his neck at all. The guard shoves him face first to the floor and Alex has to work to remember _not_ to catch himself.

And then he’s burning. The fire starts in his neck, spreading quickly down his spine. Every nerve soon catches and his entire being is engulfed in flames beneath his skin. He’s paralyzed by it, unable to move or even scream out his pain. It’s _more_ than fire. He knows what fire feels like. He’ll never forget what it feels like to be burned, to have his flesh and bone devoured by flames. This is worse. More than flames spreading through his nerves, it’s lava in his veins and acid in his bones. And it’s not stopping.

He needs it to stop. He needs it to end.

It’s not stopping.

It’s not ending.

Someone above him is talking. Someone is demanding his attention. He knows the words but he can’t focus on them. He can’t focus on anything. He just lays there on the floor, burning.

“ …too much for it to …”

“It can’t possibly …”

“…should never have brought it here.”

“Why bother …not intelligent enough …”

“...expected better …”

“It’ll never …a waste of time.”

  


  


“Alex.”

Teave’s voice doesn’t quite douse the fire, but it gives Alex his focus back. It dulls the pain, enough that he finds himself trying to find Teave. He knows, in theory, where he is. Above him. To the left. The far left. Teave is on the throne to the far left. But Alex can’t find him. His eyes bounce back and forth around the room, not really seeing anything. He’s trying his hardest, but he just can’t find him.

“Alex, look at me,” Teave commands.

Alex closes his eyes. Exhales deeply. He pushes himself up and opens his eyes again. This time when he looks, he finds Teave. Focuses on him with everything he has.

“Queen Maga is addressing you,” Teave tells him. “You will give her your undivided attention.”

Alex nods. He turns his head, slowly seeking out the queen. She’s in the middle, he thinks. Above the rest of them. It takes a moment, but he finds her. He’s not sure what he was expecting when he finally met the infamous Queen Maga, but he’s overwhelmed by her appearance. She’s old enough to be his grandmother, easily, yet there’s not a hint of frailty to her. Her chest-length gray hair is loose, flowing down gracefully around her. Her face is sharp yet her expression is unreadable, her blue eyes unyielding. She’s dressed differently than the rest of them; her uniform is white, with ornate gold clasps going up her chest. There are gold patterns and bright gems embroidered on the sleeves and the collar and a gold belt around her waist. Over her shoulders is a white cape, complete with more gold patterns. Like the rest of them, her hands are decorated with gold rings. There’s a gold crown atop her head, covered with large diamonds.

“Human,” her voice is elegant, and there’s no denying the power behind it. “Do you know who I am?”

Alex wants to look at Teave for some sign of how to best answer her, but he dares not take his eyes off the Queen. He nods and hopes it’s the right answer.

Queen Maga tilts her head just slightly to the left, “You call it ‘Alex’, is that right, Lord Teave?”

“Yes, your majesty,” Teave replies.

The Queen tests his name with a light smile, as though she finds it endearing, “Alex. Do you know where you are? Speak.”

Behind him, the guard removes the muzzle. Alex opens and closes his mouth—his jaw popping as he does—trying to form words but his head spinning. Too much smoke from all the fire. His throat and mouth are too dry. There’s no way for him to get out anything more than a raspy, “Court.”

A courtroom, is what he’d intended to say. Court is the best he can do.

“Court,” Queen Maga repeats, amused by his answer. “We are indeed the High Court. I suppose you understand well enough. Answer me this, then, you are aware that you are the property of Lord Teave, yes?”

Alex nods sluggishly. His brain is a platter of scrambled eggs and he’s only just able to comprehend Queen Maga’s questions.

“Then why did you choose to flee his custody and assault the Captain Maresper as he attempted to retrieve you?” She asks.

Alex shakes his head—an action that makes him even dizzier—and hoarsely whispers, “Didn’t.”

Queen Maga raises an eyebrow, “You did _not_ leave Castle Esmarch?”

Talking is excruciating, but Alex forces the words out nonetheless, “…taken.”

There are quiet murmurs around the room at that. One person is questioning how that could be possible. Another is accusing him of lying. The third is remarking that he’s too ignorant to provide them with real answers. Teave says nothing. The Queen is staring at him, her face unreadable.

“Do you comprehend,” she wonders, “the ramifications of such an assertion?”

Head swimming, Alex nods. His brain is overloading and he has a feeling it’s because of the collar they put on him. Knowing that doesn’t help anything.

“Then speak, Alex,” the Queen orders. “Tell the Council who took you.”

“Men,” he breathes. “Two.” 

“Describe these men.”

Alex whimpers. He doesn’t know how he can possibly describe the two men at the moment. He can barely get out a word at a time, giving a full description of them just isn’t going to be possible. He tries to speak, getting out nothing more than something halfway between a gag and a groan. He tries again and it’s no better.

“Permission to speak, your majesty?” asks the man on the first throne to the right. Alex glances at him for an instant. He’s a few years older than Teave, Alex thinks, with light skin, a square face, pale green eyes and slightly graying brown hair.

The Queen gives the slightest of nods, “Permission granted, Lord Miripe.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” Lord Miripe says. “I don’t believe listening to the human’s testimony will be of use. I don’t think it has the intelligence to provide an adequate account of what happened.”

“Does anyone second this?” The Queen asks.

“I do,” says the woman on the throne next to Teave’s. She looks to be slightly younger than him, pale with stiff blonde hair that reaches her shoulders and dark brown eyes. She bows her head politely, “With respect, your majesty.”

“Thank you, Lady Vanka,” Queen Maga says with a slight nod in Lady Vanka’s direction, “And you, Lady Kelico? Do you think so as well?”

The woman at the far right is obviously the oldest of the four, perhaps old enough to be Alex’s mother. Her fair face is slightly wrinkled around her light brown eyes and her gray hair is cut short. She looks thoughtful for a moment before speaking, “I recognize that Lord Teave is confident in his human’s intellect, and it does seem to have a _general_ understanding of the situation, but I do agree that it is unable to testify properly.”

“Hearing this,” Queen Maga goes on, “do you wish to rescind your desire to have your human testify, Lord Teave?”

“I do not,” Teave answers. He goes on, his voice as confident and collected as Alex has always known it to be, “Humans, when exposed to a frightening event, often shut down their minds and struggle to recount them verbally. A sort of, primal defense mechanism. A sufficiently frightening experience can lead to what they call ‘shock’ and make communication difficult.”

“You’re saying this is why it won’t answer?” Lady Vanka asks.

“It’s a possibility,” Teave replies.

“How do you suggest remedying this issue?” Queen Maga asks.

“Simpler questions,” Teave says. “Anything that can be answered in just a few words. Or with a yes or a no.”

“You want _us_ to cater to _it?_ ” Lady Kelico sneers.

“If we’re going to get any answers, we must ask the right questions,” Teave replies calmly.

“Very well,” Queen Maga consents. “I will test your theory, if only because this creature’s clear devotion to you is intriguing in the face of what transpired yesterday.”

Teave bows his head in respect, “Thank you, your majesty.”

The Queen focuses on Alex again, “Can you call to your mind an image of these two men?”

Alex nods, Teave’s plan becoming clear.

“Then do so,” Queen Maga orders, “show us the two men you claim to have stolen you from Castle Esmarch.”

It’s easier to picture them this time. He focuses on every detail of their faces. Their posture as they’d sat on the train. Their clothes. He doesn’t focus much on the memory of their tattoos. He lets them all see, but he doesn’t stay on the image long. Why should he? He doesn’t know their significance. The iconography of _higher beings_ means nothing to a human, after all. They were just a detail he happened to notice.

The room fills with startled gasps. Behind Alex, Captain Maresper exclaims something he can’t understand. Lady Kelico covers her mouth in shock. Lord Miripe leans forward in his throne as though to get a better look. Lady Vanka whips her head to look at Teave, who is staring wide-eyed as if he wasn’t expecting this. Even Queen Maga reacts, stiffening in her throne and lifting her chin.

For his part, Alex shrinks in fear at the sudden outbursts. Because surely he can’t be expected to understand any of this. How could a human possibly guess that the symbol Veress and Orif have tattooed on their wrists is a representation of some political stance? Some resistance group against the Collective Consciousness, perhaps. No, a human could never put that together, so it’s only _natural_ that he would assume they’re all angry with _him._

“Lord Teave,” Lord Miripe demands, “what do you know of this?”

“No more than we see.”

“This _must_ be a fabrication!” Lady Vanka insists.

“How can it be?” Lady Kelico asks. “Humans cannot create false images in their minds.”

Lady Vanka shakes her head, “Until Lord Teave brought this one here we didn’t know humans were a near-intelligent species. Who’s to say what they can do?”

“They’re not a near-intelligent species,” Teave states. “Alex’s capacity to learn is an exception, not the norm. Even if it were, I’ve never told him anything about the Alighting. He’s never seen their seal before.”

That’s true. Alex _has_ heard the name before—according to Max, Noah had said it before he died—but he doesn’t actually know who or what it refers to. They were never able to find any more information before his untimely departure from the planet and Teave hasn’t brought it up until now.

“Be that as it may,” the Queen declares, “this raises a great deal of questions. How, Lord Teave, did members of the Alighting get ahold of your human? How did it escape from them? And _why_ did it attack Captain Maresper when he came to recover it?”

Teave looks at Alex expectantly, “Alex?”

“Helped,” Alex’s voice cracks, making it sound more like a squeak than an actual word.

“You were helped?” the Queen asks. When Alex nods, she asks, “By whom?”

Alex swallows and inhales deeply, “The …fa …mily …”

“The family whose home you were found in?” Queen Maga asks.

“Yes,” Alex breathes, “majesty.”

“Your majesty, if Quire Taurant and her children really did save the human, it may have been confused when Captain Maresper initially attempted to arrest them,” Lady Kelico comments. “It _does_ seem quite frightened by him.”

“That matter can wait,” Queen Maga announces. “We first need to know more about these Alighting spies and how they entered Lord Teave’s home. Captain, cage the human in the Southern Tower; we’ll decide its fate later. For now we need answers from an _intelligent_ being.”

She flicks her wrist lightly and the collar around Alex’s neck splits open. As it falls to the floor, the burning beneath his skin finally subsides and he sighs in relief. His mind is clear again. Or at least as clear as it can be after everything that’s happened. Enough that he remembers to act afraid again when Captain Maresper fastens the muzzle back around his face and hoists him up by the arms. He squirms in his grasp, but makes no attempt to escape. It’s enough to have them all think he’s afraid of the captain, but still understands that he needs to cooperate.

Captain Maresper turns him away from the thrones and toward the door they’d entered through earlier. He holds him firmly in place as it opens and another guard shoves someone else into the room. Alex almost doesn’t recognize Quire under all the bruises on her tear-stained face. Like Alex, she’s been stripped of her clothing and forced into a muzzle. There are thick shackles around her wrists, a short chain keeping them together. Her skin looks as slimy as Alex’s feels and his heart sinks, knowing she’s been in the same dark prison he has.

They’re shoved passed each other. Quire is pushed forward and taken by Captain Maresper, while Alex is handed over the other guard. He glances up at the guard’s face and for an instant, he almost hates how clever Teave can be.

His throat already feels like he’s been swallowing nails, but that doesn’t stop him from screaming. His body hurts enough that he thinks it might actually come apart at the hinges, but that doesn’t stop him from wrenching himself out of the guard’s grip. He’s only got one leg to stand on, but that doesn’t stop him from throwing himself back into Captain Maresper’s arms.

Poor Quire stumbles backwards and falls to the floor from the force of Alex’s movements, but he can’t worry about that right now. With luck, this will save her and her family from any further pain. He cries loudly and clings to Captain Maresper, pressing his face against his shoulder like a frightened child. He tries to pull Alex off of him, but Alex isn’t about to make this easy. He winds up having to use his powers to shove Alex back at the other guard, who—apparently too confused by the commotion to use his own powers—tries to grab hold of him by hand. Alex drops to the floor instead—careful to make it seem as though he didn’t mean to fall—and crawls behind Captain Maresper, clinging now to his leg.

Everyone around him is shouting. If he spoke a word of antaran, he still wouldn’t be able to understand them over the sound of his own cries. Maybe he’s overacting just a little, but if his life depends on this performance, he might as well make it the performance of a lifetime. 

The other guard is trying furiously to grab Alex, and Alex catches a glimpse of his face as he holds tight to Captain Maresper; he’s panicking. He thinks he needs to get rid of Alex quickly if he doesn’t want to get caught. If he doesn’t want to be revealed as a member of the Alighting, whoever they may be. Alex knows better. It’s already too late. The entire Council believes that Alex is terrified of Captain Maresper. There’s only one reason he’d suddenly grab onto him for protection. 

There are more people in the room now. Alex can hear more shouting and struggling. For just an instant, he locks eyes with Teave. He’s wearing a shocked expression, but gives Alex a near imperceptible nod. That confirmation is all Alex needs to feel no fear at all—despite his continued hysterics—when he’s finally dragged out of the room by a woman guard he’s never seen before. He doesn’t let up too much as she takes him to what he assumes is the Southern Tower. He whimpers at her feet in the elevator, her annoyance an encouragement. She mutters something that’s probably along the lines of _good riddance_ when she finally shoves him straight from the elevator and into a cell.

It’s small and entirely white. Pristine. The door is solid glass but all he can see through it is the seemingly endless elevator shaft. It’s much more expected of an alien jail cell than the dank dungeon he’d been kept in. The Dark Room. He shudders at the thought of it. It almost brings a new round of genuine panic, but he holds it down this time. Sits back against the wall and holds himself. Hopes he still looks afraid in case he’s being watched. 

He’s so exhausted he nearly falls asleep while he waits for something else to happen. It takes time, but eventually he hears the elevator coming up again. To his surprise, it’s not another guard who steps through the door as it opens, but Teave. His powers pull Alex to him, and he holds him up gently by his shoulders. The muzzle comes undone and falls away, and Teave presses their lips together. Alex doesn’t resist, but he can’t bring himself to kiss him back either. He just waits to find out what happens next.

Teave grins as he finally breaks the kiss, “And the Oscar goes to …”

***

Alex doesn’t say a word for three days after he’s released back into Teave’s custody. At first, he’s not sure he even _can._ His brain is still mush from whatever the Council did to him at the trial, his jaw is still stiff and sore, and his throat hurts more than it did when he spent two days breathing in nothing but smoke and soot from the burning rubble all around him. Even more than the certainty that he physically can’t speak, he doesn’t _want_ to. Doesn’t want to even _try._ It’s not worth the pain.

So he doesn’t. He just listens to Teave praise him for a job well done while he puts his prosthetic on, glad to finally have his mobility back. He’s had enough of being dragged and carried and tossed around for one day, and despite how agonized his body is, he can’t wait to actually start walking again. Once his leg is set, Teave helps him to his feet again and drapes a silk-like cloak over him.

“It was a little over the top,” He comments, allowing Alex to lean on him as they step into the elevator. “But that’s perfect, honestly. They think you’re just smart enough to understand who you belong to, but not enough to be held accountable for what happened. And that woman and her children are going to be released, so you can stop worrying about them.”

Alex doesn’t really want to be praised for making people think he’s incompetent, so he doesn’t offer any sort of response beyond a small sigh of relief for Quire and her family. Teave doesn’t seem to mind. He holds Alex tight against him when the elevator reaches the ground floor, his arm around his waist and his powers supporting the bulk of Alex’s weight. Alex doesn’t need any further prompting to hide his face against Teave’s chest when the doors open. He catches glimpses of people as they walk out of the building; the Citadel of Virtue, Teave calls it. Guards and members of Court, all of them whispering among themselves, watch them with great interest.

This is the fourth time Alex has been outside the walls of Castle Esmarch since arriving on Antar. The first time was a gala in honor of some war Antar fought years ago. The second was a banquet celebrating someone for something—whether it was a birthday or some accomplishment, he’d never been told—and had ended with him spending weeks in that awful face harness. Then came the Third Moon Celebration, during which he’d earned his freedom from said harness. And now this entire ordeal. 

All the previous ventures had been indoors and at night. He’d been taken from the castle onto the train and then directly to their destination and vice versa. There’d never been a chance for him to have an actual look at the city. He can’t see too much right now—the sunlight burns despite his eyes having adjusted to the lights inside the Citadel—but he’s able to get a quick glimpse at least. What he manages to see feels like a strange mix of fantasy and science fiction. One part Minas Tirith, one part Coruscant, and one part Disney world, all with a splash of solarpunk over it. He hates to admit it, but if he’d grown up in a place like this, he might consider his people superior beings too.

Then he reminds himself that the Upper Ring is only a small part of the city. He hasn’t forgotten how miserably citizens of the Lower Ring are living, or the things Quire told him about their struggles. Or how she and her children would have been sentenced to, what exactly, he doesn’t know. Death? Life? Torture? He doesn’t think they’d have been given a fair chance to explain what really happened. He’s just relieved to know they’re going to be okay now.

Teave’s personal train—because that’s a thing he has, being royalty and all—is a welcome sight when they reach the station. Several guards are waiting for them inside, none of them particularly subtle about the way they’re staring at Alex. It’s nothing new for people to stare at him so he pays them no mind. There’s something different about their stares this time, though. He doesn’t know what, but he suspects it’s because of the attempted abduction. Gossip travels fast, even faster on a planet full of telepaths. Those people who weren’t whispering as they walked by were probably talking about the matter in their mindscapes. By now, Alex supposes the entire planet knows what happened.

Numerous servants are there to greet them when they finally get back to Castle Esmarch. The redhead approaches with a respectful bow and holds out her arm; Alex expects that she’ll be escorting him back to his room so that he can finally clean up and get some rest. And something to eat, he hopes. Instead, Teave shakes his head and doesn’t remove his arm from around Alex’s waist. He takes Alex along the familiar route to his bedroom himself. Along the way servants pause in their work, trying to get a look at them as they pass. It’s strangely like when Alex first arrived and everyone stared in a blend of intrigue and disgust. This time it’s harder to tell what they must be thinking. He’s too tired to care. 

They step through a large, guarded pair of double doors and he has to hide his face again, the light in this room too bright for him to bear. It’s something like a lounge, long and rectangular with three dark purple couches around a black coffee table. There are always guards inside, one standing in front of each of the six circular columns that line the room. The white floors and walls are polished so cleanly they reflect the bright lights from the ceiling, as do the columns. Worse is the far wall, composed entirely of mirrors floor to ceiling, bouncing the light right at them. 

It’s too much, so he keeps his head down as they approach the mirrored wall. Two of the mirrors that make up the wall are actually doors, though both lead into the same room. Alex has never been allowed to get a good look at this room, beyond the pompous sitting area. There are two doors in the left wall, the closer of which leads into a room that, oddly, is completely empty. A door is hidden in the panelling of the far wall in the empty room, leading to a stairway and a lengthy passage and then, finally, Alex’s room. They walk toward the door to the empty room and Alex is surprised when Teave instead takes him to the other door.

Back on Earth, when they had first dated, Teave had taken Alex to a handful of luxury resorts over the years. The kinds of places Alex would have never even dreamed of going to. He’d always felt overwhelmed, not just by the grandeur but by Teave himself, and how he was never phased by any of it. In fact, he acted like even the most expensive, most magnificent luxuries were nothing, and Alex—just over twenty when they met—felt deeply inadequate next to a man who seemed so worldly compared to him. But then, anyone could look at the world as beneath them if they grew up in a literal castle. A literal castle with their own personal spa, at that.

The gold and black marble room is as absurdly spacious as everywhere else in the castle. There’s an unnecessarily huge glass shower built into the left wall and reaching halfway across the room. Benches and mirrors line the wall to the right, ending halfway through just as the shower does. There are other doors further in. To the right beyond the mirrors he can see a bathroom that’s a luxury in and of itself; a grand tub, an elegant sink, even the toilet is ridiculously fancy. On the left, just after the shower, are two more rooms behind glass doors; a steam room and a sauna, unsurprisingly. Through the door in the far wall is a massive heated pool, steam rising up from the water and making it difficult to see anything else in the room.

As he’s guided into the bathroom and given a moment of privacy to relieve himself, Alex vaguely wonders why he’s been brought here. His bedroom has its own bathroom; nothing as imposing as this place, but still more impressive than just about any on Earth. He doesn’t try to ask, though. He just does what he needs to before returning to Teave’s side. He’s taken into the shower and maneuvered onto the marble bench built up out of the floor.

Teave doesn’t ask permission to remove Alex’s prosthetic, just levitates it and the cloak out of the shower and closes the door again. He presses his palm against the glass and a menu display appears. Alex can’t read any of what’s written on it, but he can only assume they’re options for things like pressure and temperature. He watches Teave make his selections, surprised when a compartment opens beside him on the bench and a glass bottle rises up out of it. It’s filled with a sparkly orange liquid that Alex assumes is some kind of body wash. Teave makes another selection and a strong but gentle stream of water pours down over them, its heat a balm on Alex’s sore body. 

As the water washes over them, Teave—having undressed himself while Alex used the bathroom—plucks the cork from the bottle. Alex is overcome with an all too familiar scent; it’s not black raspberries and vanilla _exactly,_ but it’s close enough that he assumes this scent is what Teave had been trying to approximate on Earth. He doesn’t resist as Teave scrubs him clean. He doesn’t care about how Teave’s hands are lingering on his skin or the way he keeps brushing his lips against the back of his neck. Maybe tomorrow he will, but right now it doesn’t matter. In fact, right now _any_ touch is welcome, regardless of how sick it normally makes him. A year without any physical contact has him desperate for it. 

No, not a year, he reminds himself. Just a day. It’s only been a year in his mind. He tells himself that over and over again, but it doesn’t change his need for touch. Doesn’t change how he’s practically melting under Teave’s hands as he washes him and rubs the soreness from his muscles. Some of his joints crack beneath Teave’s fingers, but it only halfway soothes the ache in them. If only Antar had chiropractors.

Once Alex is clean Teave dries him delicately, the towel so warm and so soft he could practically use it as a bed. Wrapped in the cloud-like towels, they return to the previous room and Alex is surprised yet again when he’s still not taken back to his room. Teave brings him to the sitting area, where a platter of food is waiting on the table; a bowl of soup, a plate of fruits and bread, a crystal pitcher and matching chalice.

“Eat,” Teave says, helping Alex onto one of the sofas.

Alex does as he’s told, relieved to finally get some water down his parched throat and food into his empty stomach. It wasn’t really a year, he tells himself again, but his body seems unconvinced. Teave keeps his arm around Alex’s shoulders while he eats and Alex finds himself leaning into the embrace. He doesn’t have it in him to hate Teave right now. He’s too relieved that he’s not alone in the dark anymore.

As soon as Alex finishes his food, it finally hits him just how exhausted he is. He doesn’t react when Teave lifts him up and carries him toward a large curtained area on the other side of the room. The curtains open and reveal a bed so big that “king size” sounds small by comparison. Sluggishly, he realizes that this room must be Teave’s bedroom. That would certainly explain why it’s hidden and guarded, why it’s the only way to access Alex’s room.

He decides it’s not an important observation as Teave helps him into the bed, and he’s asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow.

***

Alex sleeps for almost the entire next day. He wakes long enough to eat and use the bathroom, then slides right back into the bed. Teave is always beside him, stroking his hair or rubbing his arms or back or legs. At some point Alex wakes to see Teave going over various papers and files; he can’t read them, but he’d recognize briefings and status reports anywhere. Part of him wonders if any of them have to do with what happened, but he supposes if he needs to worry about any of it, Teave will let him know. Or not. He doesn’t care at the moment about anything but sleep.

On the third day, Alex is made to get up. He doesn’t want to but after they’ve eaten lunch Teave won’t allow him to sleep any longer.

“You can’t stay in bed all day forever,” he insists. “It’s not healthy, you need exercise. I know you know that, Alex.”

Alex groans but doesn’t argue. He lets Teave pull him from the bed and carry him to the bathroom. He doesn’t protest as Teave bathes him again, this time in the tub inside the smaller—by comparison, anyway—bathroom. He leans into the motion as Teave massages his back and shoulders again, though he knows most of the stiffness that lingers is the sort that will only be soothed by stretching and actually using his muscles. Which seems to be exactly what Teave has in mind. He helps Alex dress and puts his prosthetic on him, unconcerned with touching his leg without asking. 

Today’s ensemble is, thankfully, far less complicated than usual. No elaborate pieces or accessories. Just a halterneck dress, dark blue around the chest, growing lighter until it’s pure white from his knees down. He’s never particularly thrilled when he has to wear dresses—an unfortunate side effect of being raised the way he was, he knows—but Antaran fashion is gender-neutral. He’s seen it for himself multiple times; women and men wore both pants and dresses to every event Alex has been to, and Teave has told him that had he not become so accustomed to American fashion over the years, he’d probably wear dresses himself. There's even a portrait in one of the hallways of Teave’s late parents in matching gowns—his mother’s blue and gold, his father’s red and gold. Even so, it’s a personal choice for all of them, while Alex has no say in it. And he can’t do anything to block out his father’s voice in the back of his mind, mocking and berating him.

“I have a guest,” Teave says, as they step out of the room. “Best behavior.”

Alex nods. He doesn’t have the energy to even try to misbehave right now anyway. He tries to remember what he’s been taught about proper Court behavior, especially in regards to his posture. Far too many times he’s been chastised for standing at attention or parade rest— _too assertive,_ Teave calls the stances—while standing at ease isn’t _proper_ enough. He can’t quite seem to get himself into exactly the pose expected of him. 

Luckily Teave appears to be feeling generous today; he holds out his arm, and Alex takes it gratefully. Not only does he no longer have to worry about his posture while he’s on Teave’s arm like this—all he has to do is hold onto him like some kind of decoration—but it’s a huge relief to have something help support his weight. Because, of course, antarans don’t _need_ crutches, so Alex can’t have his. Just like he can’t have his medications to help him focus, no matter how badly he needs them right now.

Lord Miripe is waiting for them in the castle’s entryway. He and Teave greet one another politely, but with nothing resembling fondness. Alex is fairly certain that were they not equal in rank, neither of them would show the other any respect. Miripe eyes Alex like he’s an insect and he shrinks against Teave’s arm, wishing he could drop the act and just deck the smug bastard.

He can’t though, and just holds onto Teave as he guides them out into the gardens. There’s a decent amount of clouds in the mint green sky today—how Antar’s sky is _green,_ Alex still doesn’t know—and the sunlight isn’t too much for him to bear. The three of them go into the hedge maze, four guards, the redhead, and a lean blonde man—Teave’s valet, Alex assumes—following nearby. Alex hasn’t actually come in here before, not feeling entirely comfortable being unable to find his way through it. He tries to memorize the route they take while Teave and Miripe talk, neither of them paying Alex any attention.

They talk for a little over two hours before Teave sends Alex back inside. Under the redhead’s care once again, he’s taken back to his own bedroom for dinner. She watches him, as always, though this time there’s something more than the usual disdain in her eyes. Pity, maybe. Or perhaps she’s just disappointed that he came back when she probably thought she was finally rid of him. Whatever she’s thinking, Alex doesn’t resent her for once. Her company may not be pleasant, but it’s company.

It feels like forever since he’s been in here and he has to tell himself repeatedly that it’s only been a few days. After dinner he sits at the windows and watches the scene unfold. It’s set on a vast, mist covered forest, the trees and the grass occasionally swaying gently in a soft breeze. Leaves drift down from the trees now and again, and birds can sometimes be seen flitting about on the branches. It’s a peaceful view, one Alex has left on so many times he now has the entire loop memorized. He knows exactly which leaves are going to fall and when. He knows where and when the birds are going to appear, what branches they’ll be on. The scene lasts for about forty minutes before the loop restarts, and Alex watches it play out twice before the redhead signals that it’s time to get ready for bed.

She’s gentler than normal tonight, when she helps him into the bathroom and washes him down. Her hands are soft while she dresses him, careful not to cause him any pain. She closes the window’s curtains with her mind as she moves Alex into the bed and draws the blankets over him. Normally he can’t stand being treated like some helpless child, but he’s still not up to resisting. It’s not until she walks to the door and reaches out for the panel he knows will shut off the lights that Alex reacts to her at all.

_“No, don’t!”_ He exclaims, bolting upright in the bed. The words tear his throat and leave him gasping for breath, but the fear of being left alone in the darkness again is stronger than any pain.

Startled by his outburst, the redhead flinches and stares at him.

“Please leave the lights on, _please,_ ” he pleads.

The look she gives him is different than any she has before. It’s something almost like sympathy. He knows she can’t understand his words, but the context seems to speak for itself. Opening the curtains again with her mind, she walks to the window and begins to flip through the options. She stops on an aurora—swirls of green, blue, pink and purple lights—in a starry night sky over an icy lake with snow covered mountains off in the distance.

Alex breathes a sigh of relief, “Thank you.”

Able to at least recognize his gratitude, the redhead gives him a polite nod in return before she shuts off the lights and leaves him. The images in the window may be fake, but the light streaming into the room from it is more than real enough to ease his mind to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of outfits this week (honestly half the fun of this fic is looking for things to inspire antar's fashion)
> 
> Teave & the Council's uniforms:  
> 
> 
> Queen Maga's uniform & crown:  
> 
> 
> The matching dresses Teave's parents wore:  
> 
> 
> And the dress Alex wears:  
> 
> 
> Comments always extremely appreciated!


	17. moon fish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex tries to recover after his experience in the Dark Room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about missing last week, I was busy celebrating FREEDOM. Haha no, I'm kidding, I was holding my poor dog because he's terrified of fireworks. I'd like to say things'll be back on track starting this week, but I've been handed an unexpected batch of sudden responsibilities (it's actually a good thing, just inconvenient lol) so unfortunately I may have to slow down the updates. I will do my absolute best to continue on a weekly basis, though!
> 
> This week we carry on exactly where the last chapter ended. Warnings for sort-of graphic (consensual) sexual content in the beginning, discussions of the previous chapter's events, discussions of child abuse, and somewhat graphic-ish violence.

“It’s a fish,” Michael says, pointing toward the sky. “Look, see it?”

Alex hums as he spots the cloud Michael is pointing out, “I see it. It’s swimming to the moon.” 

“Moon fish,” Michael laughs.

Alex laughs too. He loves Michael’s dumb jokes; Michael never fails to make him laugh. He can’t quite remember exactly where they are, but the field they’re laying in is far away from anything else. They’re surrounded by dandelions as far as he can see, seeds drifting about in the wind as they gaze up at the clouds, hand in hand. Alex loves these little moments, when it’s just the two of them and nothing else matters. He lives for them.

Michael plucks a single flower from the ground and holds it up, twirling it between his fingers. He brings it to his lips and blows the seeds into the air, then picks another. This one he holds out over Alex’s face.

“What’d you wish for?” He asks after Alex blows the seeds off the stem.

Alex smirks, “Can’t tell.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Michael rolls his eyes, “or it won’t come true.”

“Well what’d _you_ wish for?” Alex asks.

Michael lets go of Alex’s hand and rubs his thumb along Alex’s cheek, “This.”

Alex—grinning and blushing like the shy teenager he used to be—takes hold of Michael’s hand and lightly kisses his fingers, “I love you.”

Pushing himself up so he’s leaning over Alex, Michael whispers a kiss against his lips and breathes, “I know.”

Alex doesn’t remember taking their clothes off, but they’re gone now and their hands are touching every inch of bare skin they can. He moans into Michael’s mouth as they kiss, his hands rubbing down his muscular back. Michael plants kisses over Alex’s neck, along his collarbone, down his chest. Alex runs his fingers through Michael’s curls in return, encouraging him to keep kissing. 

“I want you,” He whispers as Michael kisses the inside of his thigh.

“You have me, darlin’,” Michael says. “I’m right here.”

“Michael …”

“Shh, I know what you want,” Michael promises. He presses a kiss just over his navel, “Just relax, darlin’ and I’ll make you feel so good …”

His fingers slide easily into Alex, and he moans softly. He should wonder how they’re already slick and wet, but why bother with trifles in a moment so perfect? He just grabs a fistfull of grass and holds on as Michael teases him so perfectly, covering his body in kisses while his fingers dance inside him. 

“Please, Michael,” He pants, “I need you, baby. _Please._ ”

He grips Michael’s shoulders, clinging to him as he finally enters him fully. He wraps his thighs around Michael’s waist, urging him to move. Michael’s not rough, but he’s not quite gentle either. It’s a perfect place balance of both as he thrusts into Alex. He catches Alex’s mouth with his as he moans, supporting himself with one hand while the other slides down to Alex’s cock.

“I love you,” Alex whimpers, their foreheads pressed together. “I love you, I love you …”

“I love you, too.”

Alex opens his eyes with a gasp. The field is gone. The flowers are gone. The sunny sky is gone. Michael is gone. He was never really here. It was just a dream. Alex is clothed and in his bed, alone. The soft light from the window is still washing gently over the room, exactly as it was when he fell asleep. He’s on Antar, not Earth. And Michael isn’t here with him. Michael will never be here with him. Michael doesn’t love him. He pulls the blankets over his face and cries.

***

When Alex next wakes, he’s surprised to find Teave sitting next to him in the bed. Leaning back against the wall, relaxed, Teave is watching him fondly. He reaches out and wipes away the remnants of Alex’s tears.

“Rough night?” He asks.

Alex nods, turning onto his side and looking up at him.

“I know it’s hard,” Teave admits, “but you’ll be alright. It’s over now, all’s forgiven and you won’t have to go back to the Dark Room ever again. As long as you don’t _actually_ try to run away or anything, that is.”

“I won’t,” Alex whispers, voice feeling foreign from the lack of use. He wouldn’t have anyway, of course, but now he wouldn’t try it even if he knew it wouldn’t endanger Michael and the others. He’d rather endure all of Teave’s petty tortures than go back to the Dark Room.

Teave runs his fingers through Alex’s hair, “I’m proud of you, you know. Most people break after the first few hours, but you made it through the whole day. You panicked a few times, but once I came to get you, you handled yourself with such grace. Under the circumstances, I mean. I love that about you, Alex. You can bounce back from anything, can’t you?”

“What happened?” Alex asks softly, clutching the blanket against his chest. He hasn’t actually been given any details in the days since coming back.

“Hmm? Oh, you mean at the tribunal?” Teave asks. “Well, let’s see. After you were taken away, that guard tried to claim that you’re a …‘rabid mongrel’ would be the best translation of what he called you. Tried to discredit you but really, his bed was made.”

“What’s ...what’s gonna happen ...to him?”

“He tried to offer up information in exchange for his life,” Teave says casually. “He didn’t have much to offer, just the names of a few other spies and one of their hideouts outside the city. But they’d all fled as soon as word started getting out that you were being given a chance to testify, and their little lair was abandoned by the time it was raided. So he’s set to be executed in a few days.”

Part of Alex wants to feel pity for the guard, having been so completely abandoned by his comrades. But if things had turned out differently, he knows the guard wouldn’t feel the same for him. He’d have left Alex to suffer in the Dark Room forever if he’d had his way. He’d have let Quire and her children suffer. So Alex does what he does best and buries the feelings.

“Quire?” He asks, unwilling to dwell on the guard’s fate.

“Who?”

“The family that helped me.”

“Right, her. She and her children are being honored as heroes for rescuing you and exposing a conspiracy against the throne. She’ll be presented with a medal at the execution. And before you ask, yes, you are expected to be there.”

“Won’t people be ...upset?” Alex asks. “I’m human.”

Teave nods, “Yes, some people are still disturbed about your presence here. But honestly, this whole mess has worked beautifully in our favor. You’ve uncovered an entire conspiracy, Alex. Until the other day, the Alighting was thought to’ve been eradicated. Thanks to you, we know they’re still around, _and_ they’ve lost several spies.”

Teave is grinning at him with pure pride. Pride in both of them, as though this was some plan the two of them had concocted and not a stroke of good luck. Good luck for Teave, at least. For Alex, it’s neutral, at best.

“Most everyone is sold on you now. Or at least intrigued by you. They’re starting to see why I brought you here. They think you’re _cute._ ”

“Cute?” Alex questions.

“That’s right. Like a little—”

Alex groans, “I _swear_ to _God_ …”

Teave laughs and pinches Alex’s cheek, “ _There_ you are. Yes, they all think it’s cute that you actually tried to protect that family after they rescued you, even though it was just a misunderstanding. Such a _loyal_ little thing, you are. Even the Queen found it endearing.”

Alex sighs. As if he didn’t feel dehumanized enough already. He decides to change the subject before he can let the thought eat at him, “Who ...who are the Alighting?” 

“The Alighting?” Teave shakes his head and sighs. “Radicals. Zealots who believe that Antar can be made stronger by undoing the hierarchy.”

“What monsters.”

“ _Don’t_ joke, Alex.” Teave warns, fixing him with a hard glare.

Swallowing, Alex holds his breath and waits to see what Teave will do next. On Earth, Teave hadn’t typically been physically violent with him. At least, not in the ways Alex was used to. A grip that was too tight or fingernails digging into his skin, the sort of thing he could claim he didn’t realize he was doing or shrug off as Alex overreacting. He’d preferred to tear Alex down from the inside out. To grab hold of some painful memory or embarrassing secret or hidden insecurity and pull. Pull and tug and twist it until Alex was tearfully apologizing for anything and promising everything. He’d only actually struck him once while they’d dated, and Alex had left him that very night. 

But back then, Alex had been _able_ to leave him. Things are different now that they’re on Antar. Teave has no need to be subtle, and Alex has nowhere to go. Though Teave still uses his tried and true methods from before, he’s also lashed out at Alex several times since they’ve arrived here, both with his hands and with his powers. Alex can never tell what kind of reaction to expect from Teave these days.

To his relief, Teave merely goes on, “Antar is the most powerful empire in the universe. We didn’t get that way by pretending all of us are _equal._ That sort of childish nonsense leads to nothing but destruction. You’ve seen it on your own planet, don’t pretend you haven’t.”

There are a lot of answers Alex could give to that. But Teave isn’t interested in Alex’s analysis of history and politics. So instead he just mutters, “Space communism.”

“The Alighting tried to overthrow the throne multiple times. Succeeded a few, but never for very long. How could they, when their entire ideology is designed to fall apart?”

“They were the ones you were fighting when the ship left?”

Teave nods, “That was the last conflict we had with them. My mother, the fool, pushed for _peace._ She sympathised with them, spent _years_ trying to convince the Council to see their point of view. Her weakness almost cost us the war, and then she took Rath and fled along with the other cowards.”

Alex has only one memory of Teave and Michael’s mother. Coward isn’t the word he would use for her. Not remotely. But Teave isn’t a man who values the lives of others. He values only that which is of use to him. 

“I had to do quite a lot of work to salvage the family name. But I did it, helped eliminate the Alighting’s forces and won back the Queen’s favor,” Teave says. He laughs to himself, “And now, thanks to you, I’m credited with discovering that the Alighting is still around. Keep this up, and I’m sure to win the throne.”

“My pleasure,” Alex mutters, though it’s anything but. If he could ruin Teave, ruin the Queen, ruin all of the Council, he’d be glad to do so, even if it cost him his life. “What did they do to me?” He asks, needing something else to focus on.

“I assume you mean the collar,” Teave comments. “It’s a …let’s call it a neuro-bridge, that sounds like a fairly accurate translation.”

“What, like, Pacific Rim?” Alex asks, sitting up and leaning his back against the wall.

“That,” Teave pauses, considering this. “Actually, that’s an _excellent_ comparison. The collar connected you to the Collective Consciousness and allowed you to communicate with the Council.”

“Couldn’t …couldn’t they have just gone into my head?” Alex doesn’t exactly _like_ having people enter his mind, but if his choices are that and having that collar burn him, he’ll gladly take the former.

“Yes, but that takes work. Not _much,_ but it’s the principle of the matter. You can’t expect the Queen to enter the mind of an inferior. It’s a deeply personal thing, usually. But within the Collective, our minds are automatically connected, like we’re all drift compatible. Thoughts can be shared seamlessly in a place that’s sort of between the individual minds, with absolutely no effort. Though of course, how much you have access to depends on your status.”

“And that thing …connected me to it?”

Teave nods, “To a degree; you were sort of on the fringes of it, where we could all communicate. It’s done sometimes with creatures considered of near-intelligence, usually to negotiate the terms of their surrender without us having to let them learn to speak Antaran.”

“It burned,” Alex admits.

“Did it? I could tell it was overwhelming you. I’ve seen creatures die on the spot from the trauma to their brain,” Teave is as casual as ever, unconcerned for how much pain his people have caused. With the thought that Alex could have died from their actions. “I’m sorry, I should’ve started preparing you for that already.”

Alex stiffens, “What?”

“I’m taking things slowly and letting the Court get used to the idea of a human living among us. But eventually you’ll be accompanying me to much more than just the biggest events, you know. Once we’re married you’ll be expected at, well, everything,” Teave explains. “For now it’s fine for you to stay at my side the whole time, but sooner or later you’ll be expected to behave like the rest of the consorts. You’ll have a job to do.”

“You said my _job_ was to just stand there and look pretty,” Alex reminds him, not bothering to hide the resentment as he quotes Teave’s words back to him.

“It is,” Teave replies, unphased. “But you know how these things work, Alex. Think of it like a state dinner on Earth, where the men are discussing things while their pretty little wives gossip. Except on this planet gender isn’t a factor.”

“So ...you’re saying …”

Teave nods, “Mhmm.” 

Shaking his head, Alex wraps his hand around his neck protectively, “No.”

“That’s not up to you, bunny. After the wedding, you will wear a neuro-bridge whenever we go out,” Teave says. His voice is hard. It leaves no room for argument. It’s not like Alex can actually stop him anyway. “Don’t worry, I’ll have one brought here soon; we can start easing you into it so you’ll be better able to focus. But no one will expect you to actually _speak._ Nor will they _want_ you to; an inferior being doesn’t _have_ anything to say. It’s really more so you can follow orders without anyone having to go into your mind. And so that _I_ can keep track of you more easily. And who knows? Maybe you’ll learn to pick out the difference between gossip and something more ...substantial.”

“But it _hurt,_ ” Alex whispers, shrinking into himself and hating how much he’s reverted to his childhood self. 

He hates how much weaker he is now than ever before. But wearing that collar—the “neuro-bridge” as Teave calls it—had been so painful. So very, very painful. It was _worse_ than real fire, which consumes what it wants and then moves on. The burning from the neuro-bridge didn’t leave, didn’t subside at all until it was finally removed. He doesn’t know if _anyone_ could possibly survive wearing one for hours on end.

“You’ll get used to it,” Teave states.

There’s nothing else to say on the matter, Alex knows that. Even if he were in any position to argue, Teave’s mind is made up. And he’s not the sort of man to give in just because Alex is uncomfortable. That’s something he learned long, long ago.

***

By the day of the execution Alex is almost starting to feel like himself again. Enough so that he finds himself trying to talk his way out of having to go to it. For just an instant, it almost seems like he’ll even get Teave to concede and let him stay behind. But, as always, in the end Teave is the one getting what he wants whether Alex likes it or not. And so he forces himself not to resist as Teave’s servants—lead by the redhead as always—set about making him presentable for the occasion. Because an execution is, apparently, a formal event. The makeup they put on him is more subtle and subdued than usual, though, and the jewelry is limited to a pair of gold hoop earrings and the bracelet bearing House Esmarch’s crest on his right wrist. Dressed in a yellow jumpsuit—the top embroidered with gold and the legs so flowing it looks more like a gown—he does his best to look meek and helpless on Teave’s arm. Just as the population of Antar believes him to be.

Teave and the rest of the Council are dressed identically, just as they were at the tribunal, only the black trench coats have been replaced with gold and black tailcoats. Beside Alex and Teave, Lady Vanka stands alone, while Lord Miripe’s wife is at his side. Standing across from them is Lady Kelico and Captain Maresper along with their respective husbands. Maresper is wearing an outfit similar to the ones the Council had worn at the tribunal, minus the jewelry. 

Each of their spouses—consorts, Teave insists on calling them—have outfits far more lavish than Alex’s, something Alex suspects Teave counted on; it makes Alex look that much more delicate by comparison. Miripe’s wife—a pale blonde who looks to be around Alex’s age—is in a maroon jumpsuit embedded with sparkling jewels and a matching sheer cape, while Kelico’s husband—an olive skinned brunette at least old enough to be Alex’s father—is in a blue dress with a dark blue coat over it, covered in a glimmering white pattern. Maresper’s tan, black haired husband is wearing a shimmering purple top with matching pants and a series of gold body chains not unlike the ones Alex had been wearing on the day of his abduction. They’re all eyeing him suspiciously, clearly disgusted that he’s meant to be accepted as one of them.

The one person not giving Alex a dirty look—other than Teave—is Quire. Dressed in a plain black gown, she sticks out among them more than even Alex does. Her eyes downcast, she won’t even spare a glance in his direction. He doesn’t blame her. Receiving a medal doesn’t take away the horror she and her family endured. A horror Alex brought upon them. He wishes he could tell her how sorry he is, that he’d give anything to go back and protect them from himself. But he can’t. An apology would mean nothing now, after that nightmare. The only solace is the knowledge that Tahbos wasn’t subjected to it, but rather placed in an ordinary cell; children are, apparently, the one exemption from the Dark Room.

They’re standing atop a grand balcony at the Citadel of Virtue overlooking a stone courtyard, crowded with members of the Court who’ve gathered around a stage in the middle to view the execution. Alex isn’t entirely sure what method is used on Antar, but based on the block positioned on the stage, he assumes it’ll be a beheading. Not something he’s exactly thrilled about having to watch in real life. He’s seen plenty of footage over the years—decapitations, hangings, stonings, firing squad—and his own hands are far from clean. But this is different. He’s never supported the death penalty and he’s never enjoyed committing acts of violence. He can justify them—defense of himself or others—but that doesn’t mean he _wants_ to take part in this. He wants to run away from these people who are so very thrilled to watch a man die today, even if he does deserve it. He can’t. All he can do is hold Teave’s arm and wait for this day to end.

When at last she arrives, Queen Maga is met with great fanfare. Her arrival is announced through blaring trumpets and the crowd below them cheers loudly as she approaches the railing. Her extravagant white ball gown is trimmed with gold patterns and diamonds, sparkling brightly in the sun, a matching cape trailing behind her. Her crown, made of gold, pearls and diamonds, is like a small garden atop her head, with a net of pearls and diamonds draped over her forehead. Her hands and arms are decorated in gold rings and bracelets embedded with diamonds, and a thick gold and diamond chain hangs around her neck. Attached to the chain, resting in the center of her chest, is a large round pendant engraved with a skull, a large war hammer vertically through it. The entire ensemble looks heavy and uncomfortable, yet she still walks with the utmost grace and poise.

The crowd falls silent as she speaks to them. Alex has heard enough speeches in his life to assume she’s talking about the _glory_ of the Collective Consciousness and how the _threat_ of the Alighting is trying to destroy their way of life. Blaming the Alighting for every issue the planet faces. Recounting an embellished, nonsensical version of their attempt to kidnap Alex. And based on the way the crowd cheers whenever she pauses, they’re all buying into every word.

Eventually, the Queen turns and gestures to Maresper and Quire, apparently introducing them to the crowd. They both step forward, heads bowed in deference to their Queen, and allow the adoring crowd a better look at them. While Maresper walks with arrogance in his step, Quire’s movements are brittle and automatic. Queen Maga speaks again, and they both take a step backward and lower themselves to their knees. Quire’s dress flares out around her like a black hole threatening to swallow her up. Alex flinches at the sight. 

In response to whatever the Queen is saying, Teave reaches behind him and takes an elegant, rectangular black case laid out on a table. He balances it easily on one hand, urging Alex to step forward with him as he approaches the Queen. Alex can’t tell if it’s Teave’s or Queen Maga’s doing, but the case opens itself to reveal two gold medals inside. They’re engraved with the same crest as the Queen’s, though far smaller and simpler and without the diamonds. Queen Maga reaches her hand out, and the two medals float out of the case. She speaks again as they hover; Alex recognizes the same kind of tone and inflection he’s always heard officials use when presenting someone with an award for their service. 

Teave guides Alex back to their original spot and returns the case to the table as the two medals are lowered over their recipients’ heads. Quire and Maresper stand and allow the crowd to celebrate them once more. They then bow to Queen Maga again and return to their places as well. Queen Maga turns her attention back to the crowd, her voice darker this time. The crowd begins to hiss and boo as the condemned man is dragged by two guards to the stage. 

His naked form is badly battered, hands shackled behind his back, and he’s muzzled the way Alex and Quire had been during their imprisonment. It’s been a week since the day he was released, and Alex isn’t sure how he feels about the thought that this man—however awful he may be—has probably been kept in the Dark Room for that entire time. He’s not even struggling as he’s brought onto the stage and forced to lay face down, his head on the block. If he really has been in the Dark Room for an entire week, death must feel like mercy to him by now.

Alex knows it makes no sense to hold antaran customs to any human understanding. Things are different here. Teave explained to him days ago that every regent of Antar selects an executioner. It’s a highly coveted position of honor, held for life. They’re celebrated like celebrities, the executions their red carpet events. So he really shouldn’t be surprised when—instead of an ominous hooded figure—the person approaching the stage is a woman in a ballgown, her light brown hair flowing down her back. The gown is royal blue with splashes of red all over it, and though it’s obviously meant to look like blood, Alex knows it’s just dye; antaran blood dries the same dark brownish as human blood. She’s carrying something Alex can’t fully see behind her gown, but it looks like the handle of an axe.

The people cheer for her as she reaches the stage and stands over the man. She looks up at the balcony and the Queen begins to speak again, presumably praising her executioner. Though she’s supposed to be looking at the Queen, Alex can’t help but feel as though the woman is looking directly at him instead. She’s too far away for him to get a clear look at her face, but the disdain radiating off of her reaches him just fine. He doesn’t care—she’s not exactly original in hating him—but when Queen Maga finishes her speech, he gets the feeling the executioner is smirking at him as she raises the axe above her head.

Only it isn’t an axe. He doesn’t realize it until it’s too late. Until the man on the block isn’t the guard who helped kidnap him anymore, he’s Michael. And the executioner isn’t some woman in a ballgown, it’s his father in his civies. Because it’s not an axe. It’s a sledgehammer. 

The scream of horror that Alex can’t hold back is only drowned out by the screams of triumph from the crowd.

***

“And I’m crying, right, ‘cause I can’t breathe and I’m scared—like, like almost pissed myself scared—and I really don’t know what else to do. So I’m just standing there crying and I know I’m gonna die, I’m definitely gonna die and I’m just hoping he’s gonna make it quick, but I know he’s not gonna make it quick. He’s gonna hurt me and he’s gonna _make sure_ I feel it right until the very end. That’s what he does, so …I’m gonna die and it’s gonna _fucking_ hurt.”

Alex has never told anyone this story. He knows that, at some point in the past, he recounted details of it to Teave. Under the influence of alcohol and—he suspects—alien mind control, he’d told him about that horrible day. He doesn’t remember exactly how much he told him, but he knows he didn’t give the whole story. Didn’t tell Teave about how certain he’d been of his own death. Or how he’d accepted it, how he was ready to die in that moment without putting up a fight. For one reason, and one reason only.

“But, that’s okay, right? ‘Cause Michael can get out. He’s got a good chance, right there, he can just sneak right by. Walk out the door and go. So like, I’m gonna die. And I’m scared, I’m really, really scared and I’m crying and I can’t breathe and I _don’t wanna die_ but it’s _okay. Michael’s_ gonna be okay. That’s what matters. So I’m ready. I fucking _scared_ but I’m ready for it. I’m ready to die if that means Michael gets to live.”

He can’t see the redhead from where he’s sitting, perched at the edge of one of the couches in his bedroom, hands fiddling in his lap. Teave left him there hours ago, with a condescending pat on the head and a _there, there, you had a bad day but it’s all better now._ As if the son of a bitch hadn’t known exactly what the execution would entail and how much worse it would be for Alex to witness than almost any other method. As if the way Alex—his mind thrown somewhere between past and present by the sight—had sobbed in anguish in his arms hadn’t been part of his plan to endear him to the Court. _How sweet it is,_ they must all think, _that this delicate creature is too innocent to even enjoy the death of their enemy._ How Alex hates him. He hates the Council. He hates the Court. He hates the Queen. He hates the redhead, standing behind him and keeping watch, as always. He hates them all.

Most of all, he hates himself.

“I just kept telling myself that. Michael’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna die, but Michael’s gonna be _okay._ But then he, fuck. That fucking idiot. He, Michael, he just …he grabs him. He grabs my dad and he, he screams at him to let me go. Tries to pull him away. Away from me.”

There are tears on Alex’s face now. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything but the sound of Michael’s voice in his head. The sound of him crying out in Alex’s defense. The sound of his scream as the hammer came down. Hell is that sound.

“And then it just …it happened so fast. My dad, he …he just swung the hammer like it was nothing. He broke Michael’s hand. He literally mangled an innocent kid and he didn’t even care. It didn’t matter to him at all. And Michael screamed and he _screamed_ and God it must’ve _hurt._ It must’ve _really hurt._ So bad, so, _so_ bad. And I just …I just stood there. I just screamed. I wasn’t even hurt, but I screamed. And then …I fainted. I fucking _fainted._ ”

Alex laughs bitterly at the memory. At how he’d just stood by and watched his father torture Michael, crushing his hand over and over. At the way he’d screamed, useless and helpless, before the world faded away. What followed he remembers only in fragments. Cowering on the living room floor as his father belted him. Being tossed over the man’s shoulder and carried up the stairs into the bathroom. His piercings ripped from his flesh and his clothes torn off while the tub filled with cold water; water he’d soon be held under for minutes at a time, swallowing mouthfuls as he gasped for desperate breaths and pleaded for mercy. Another round with the belt. Eventually he’d opened his eyes to find himself on the bathroom floor—bloody and naked and cold—with the house dark and silent, and he’d been naive enough to actually believe his punishment was over.

Somehow, he’d washed away the blood, from both himself and the floor. He’d crawled into his bedroom, far too weak to stand, and slowly pulled on his pajamas. Then he’d climbed into his bed and hid beneath the covers—as though they could possibly protect him from _real_ monsters—and cried until he fell asleep. All the while praying that somehow, Michael was safe.

He’d been terrified when his father pulled him out of bed before dawn and shoved him—barefoot in his pajamas, still clutching his blanket like a toddler—into the back seat of his car. He’d whimpered and begged him to tell him where they were going, what they were doing. He’d begged him not to hurt Michael again. Begged and begged, because he’d been too weak and scared to do anything else. Just like he is now. He hasn’t changed a bit.

“I got what I deserved after that. Or maybe not. Maybe it wasn’t enough, ‘cause I sure didn’t learn my lesson, did I? I still went back to Michael when I finally had the chance. I still thought I deserved him.” Alex looks down at his shaking hands before going on, “I’m a monster. I destroyed his life. He was just …he was just trying to help me. He wanted to protect me. He tried to save me. He tried to _save me._ And all it brought him was pain. All _I_ brought him was pain. I fucked up his whole life. By loving him. He suffered and he suffered because of me. Because I love him.”

He wonders, if he’d known then what he knows now, if he’d do it again. He wants to say no. He wants to believe he could be big enough, strong enough, _selfless_ enough, to say no. To leave Michael be and let him have everything he deserves, right from the start. To never, ever drag him through the harrowing plague it is to know and love Alex Manes. But it’s not true. He’s far too weak. Too cowardly. If he could go back, he’d do everything the same way, just to feel that one perfect moment in the museum when he knew what happiness felt like. What love was. And for that, he knows he deserves to suffer. Permanently.

“I am a _fucking disease,_ ” He finishes.

The one solace he has is that for the first time in his life, he’d made the right decision. Agreeing to come to Antar had saved Michael—and all his loved ones—not only from Teave but from Alex himself. They’re rid of him now, free of the poison he’d been in their lives. He just hopes that now that he’s gone, they’ve been able to heal.

Behind him, the door opens, but he pays it no mind. It’s not Teave, that much he knows. He’d told Alex he wouldn’t be back tonight. He hears the redhead speak quietly, then the door shuts again. The redhead approaches him carefully and sets the cloche covered platter with his dinner down on the table in front of him. Her movements are stiffer than usual, as though she’s upset. Like something’s bothering her, beyond the usual matter of having to cater to an _inferior being._ She lifts the cloche and sets it to the side before stepping out of his sight again.

“I’m sorry,” Alex says suddenly. He’s not entirely sure if he means it or not. “You’re just doing your job. I know I’m a pain in the ass. I’ve disrupted your entire way of life. I didn’t mean to, though. I don’t mean to be such a dick. And I’m sorry. I never wanted to be a bother.”

The voice that answers is unfamiliar. It’s high pitched, squeaky almost, in a way that’s kind of cute. The words are spoken into the air, rather than directly into his mind. They’re spoken with absolute certainty, too. Complete and utter confidence, a statement of fact and not opinion.

“You’re not a bother.”

Absently, Alex hums softy in response. He looks down at his meal, disinterested. He’s not hungry. Not in the slightest. He’ll get into trouble if he doesn’t eat, of course. He’s required to clean his plate at every meal, no matter how the food tastes. And sure, some of it is pretty damn good. Some antaran foods are delicious, in fact. But, like Earth foods, there are some he can’t stand to eat. Some he’d rather eat dirt than. He’s not allowed to leave _anything_ behind though, and he’s pretty sure that sometimes Teave picks out foods he knows Alex doesn’t like just to torment him. He doesn’t put it passed him to be that petty. Hell, this is the same guy who—

“What the _fuck?_ ” Alex twists around to look at the redhead, realization clicking into place and snapping him back to reality. “Did you just speak English?”

Wringing her hands, the redhead nods once, “I did, your highness.”

It’s redundant, but Alex doesn’t know what else to say, “What the _fuck?_ ”

“I am sorry, I—”

“You mean you’ve understood me this _whole time?_ ” Alex demands, leaning over the back of the couch now. “Are you fucking _kidding me?_ ”

“No!” The redhead raises her hands up. “Not the whole time, your highness. I, we learn languages very quickly by hearing them. I learned it by listening to you speak. So for, perhaps, three months now, I’ve been fluent.”

“You’ve literally been listening to me tell you personal details from my fucking life and you _understood_ them and you didn’t _say_ anything? Is everyone on this God forsaken planet this _sadistic?_ ”

“That’s not it, I swear. It’s just, at first you were very annoying and—”

_“You’re_ annoying!”

It’s not his wittiest comeback. Not by a long shot. And it’s probably not a great idea to insult the only person beside Teave that he can actually _talk_ to on this entire planet. But the rage that’s boiling over has washed away all sense of logic and good judgement, and frankly, Alex just doesn’t care right now. For at least three months this woman could have spoken up. Said _something_ to him. Instead she carried on like his words were unintelligible and his intellect at absolute zero.

The redhead nods again, “Yes, your highness, that is certain.”

Alex lets out an incredulous laugh, “I don’t fucking _believe_ this.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeats.

“I’m sorry,” he imitates, turning back around. “She’s _sorry._ ”

“I _am,_ ” she insists. He can hear and feel her take a step closer to him. “I, I didn’t realize that you were—”

“What?” Alex glares at her. “A _person?_ ”

“I …” the redhead hesitates, then nods yet again, “yes. Yes, exactly. I’m—”

“If you say you’re _sorry_ again, I swear to God I don’t even _know_ what I’ll do,” Alex growls.

“I never intended to offend you,” she promises.

“I’ve been here over eight months and you’ve treated me like a fucking _animal_ the entire time. We’re way beyond the point of _offending,_ lady.”

“I know it doesn’t mean anything, but I really _am_ sorry, your highness,” she offers.

“ _Stop_ calling me that,” Alex demands. “My _name_ is _Alex._ Why do people keep calling me that?”

“B-because it’s …proper,” the redhead replies, her fingers fidgeting. “You’re Lord Teave’s consort and you should be respected as such.”

“ _Respect?_ ” Alex scoffs. “Yeah, I’ve felt super respected the last few months.”

She purses her lips, “You haven’t exactly been—”

“Do not even _try_ to say _I’ve_ been disrespectful. I didn’t do any damn thing to you, but you’d already made up your mind about me.”

“Well how was I supposed to know that—”

“That humans have feelings. That humans aren’t stupid. That humans _think._ Yeah, I get it.”

The redhead shifts awkwardly, “Lord Teave said other humans aren’t like you. That you were an exception.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not,” Alex mutters. “I mean, we’re not fucking perfect, but we’re not animals.”

The redhead is silent for a few minutes, then quietly says, “You should eat, your highness.”

Alex huffs, “ _You_ eat.”

He snatches his fork off the tray anyway and jabs it into his food, an act which hardly relieves his anger. He’s still not entirely hungry, but he _does_ need to eat. And as much as he’d love to gorge himself on a burger and fries right about now, the alien meal consisting of what looks like chicken and vegetables will have to do.

When he’s nearly halfway through his dinner, the redhead inches closer to him, “Your highness?”

_“Alex,”_ he mutters in return.

“A-alex,” The redhead repeats hesitantly. “I just wanted to say, I’m very sorry about what happened to your lover.”

Alex freezes, fork halfway to his mouth, “What?”

“What you, what you told me about—”

“I told you that because I didn’t think you understood me. Don’t you ever go telling anyone about it, you got that?”

She shakes her head, “I would never.”

“It’s nobody’s business,” Alex says. “I never would’ve said anything if I’d known you were actually _listening._ ”

The redhead shifts awkwardly again, “I …I like listening to your stories, your highness. Uh, Alex.”

“You sure as hell don’t act like it,” Alex remarks.

“I didn’t at first,” she admits, standing now at the edge of the couch. “But they’re quite fascinating, actually.”

Alex eyes her skeptically, “Really?”

She nods again, enthusiastically this time, “Yes, very. Earth sounds like an interesting planet.”

Part of Alex wants to be happy—or as happy as he can be—to hear her say that. But a much larger part of him—the part that remembers high school all too well—is suspicious. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” He admits.

“I wouldn’t,” the redhead swears. She starts fiddling with her fingers again, “At first everything you told me just sounded barbaric, but ...I don’t know, life on Earth sounds kind of ...nice.”

“It ...can be,” Alex says. “I mean, we don’t have superpowers but it has its ups and downs.”

The redhead gives him a confused look, “Superpowers?”

Alex snickers and shakes his head, “Right, that’s just _normal_ here. Humans can’t read thoughts or move things with our minds or anything like that, but we um, we like to create stories about people who can. They’re usually heroes who fight monsters and stuff. We call them superheroes and we call their abilities superpowers.”

_“Oh,”_ her face lights up as though she’s solved a great mystery, “is that why you fell in love with Lord Teave? Because he reminds you of those stories?”

Alex actually drops the fork in his confusion, “Excuse me?”

“We all believed you were simply seeking status, but now it makes sense; Lord Teave has abilities that humans don’t, and he’s a celebrated war hero. You admire him because he is like the heroes of your people’s stories. So you really _do_ love him.”

Alex shakes his head, “No, that’s …what’s your name?”

“My name is Endavesculir, your highness,” she replies. “Although, most people call me Endy.”

“Endy,” Alex repeats. “I am not _in love_ with Teave. I don’t even _like_ him.”

“What? Then …why are you marrying him?”

“I don’t have a choice. If I don’t marry him,” Alex says, “he’ll kill my family.”

Endy startles, “W-what?”

“He almost did. And he would’ve, if I hadn’t agreed to come here with him. We made a deal; I marry him and do whatever he says, and he’ll leave my family alone. That’s why I’m here, Endy. I’m just trying to protect my family.”

“From …from Lord Teave?” Endy asks.

“I know it’s hard to believe, but—”

“It’s not hard to believe,” Endy admits. 

Alex is taken aback by that, “It isn’t?”

Endy shakes her head, “No, not really. I was young, but I remember Queen Mara’s reign. I remember how she tried to change things. She spent time in the Lower Ring and tried to find ways to let all citizens live as equals. She wanted to make peace with the Alighting, maybe even dismantle the Collective Consciousness.”

“And then the war happened?”

“And then the war happened,” Endy confirms with a heavy sigh.

“Do you …wanna talk about it?” Alex asks. He nods to the empty space on the couch, inviting her to sit.

Endy hesitates before sitting just at the edge of the couch, leaving plenty of space between them, “I don’t know much, but I do know that Queen Mara and the Alighting’s leaders were discussing a treaty. Then someone betrayed them and made things worse. All of the new laws she’d made were undone and Queen Maga took the throne back from her.”

“Is that when the refugee ship left?”

“Everyone who had been in favor of the new ways was branded a traitor,” Endy explains. “I imagine it was the same for the Alighting, because some of theirs were trying to flee as well. My family was supposed to be on the ship too, but …we didn’t make it.”

Alex inches closer to her, but keeps a careful distance, “I’m sorry.”

“My parents were executed. I was a child, so I was spared. I’ve lived here as a servant ever since,” Endy recalls. “I’ve kept all those memories inside so that I would never be seen as a traitor, but …you make it difficult to deny that life was better under Queen Mara.”

“I do?”

Endy smiles weakly, playing with her fingers, “I know what you did. For that woman and her family. We all do.”

“Right,” Alex sighs, “how I was too stupid to realize the captain wasn’t trying to hurt them.”

“No,” Endy says, shaking her head. “That woman—Quire—she told people what really happened. She said you helped her son. She said you treated his wound and then tried to fight off those Alighting spies to protect him, and that you made a deal with them so he’d be safe. The Court thinks you acted because you didn’t understand, but the rest of us know you acted because you _did._ ”

“Is that why everyone’s been looking at me so weirdly?” Alex asks.

“Everyone thought that you seduced Lord Teave so you could live here in luxury. We assumed that the reason you were uncooperative was that he’d spoiled you or maybe you were …”

“Stupid.” Alex supplies, deadpan.

Endy winces apologetically, but goes on, “He told us you were delicate. That humans are fragile and weak-minded and helpless. But you still found a way to protect the little boy, even though you were outnumbered and you have no abilities. Everything about what you did clashes with everything we’ve ever been told about humans.”

Alex feels a small smile tug at his lips, “That’s what you get for judging people before you know them.”

“Queen Mara always said there was more to other species than we thought,” Endy says. “We don’t want to remember what life was like under her though. It was a better time, but honestly, it’s easier and safer to pretend it away. But like I said, you make that difficult.”

“I’m sorry,” Alex whispers.

“Please don’t apologize, your highness. I think …it’s better not to pretend. I don’t want to forget that things were happier once. Maybe it’s silly but, if we remember the good days, then maybe they’ll happen again.”

“I don’t think having hope is silly,” Alex replies. “Sometimes hope is all you have.”

There’s a certain irony, he thinks, in him telling someone to be optimistic. He hasn’t been in years. And hope is well and truly lost to him. But the delicate smile his words put on Endy’s face tugs at Alex’s heart. It stirs something in him; not quite hope, but something akin to it. Something peaceful. He’d come to Antar expecting a life of solitude and misery. A life of pain and loneliness. Having no one but Teave to talk to, having to play his role. He never imagined that something like this could happen. That somehow, he would actually manage to make a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope Alex having one good thing in his life will make up for the delay! :) Fashion time lol
> 
> Alex's outfit at the execution:  
> 
> 
> Teave and the Council's outfits (minus the cane & top hat, unless you think they're fancy and wanna keep them lol):  
>   
> 
> 
> Miripe's wife's jumpsuit & Kelico's husband's dress:  
> 
> 
> The gold body chains on Maresper's husband:  
> 
> 
> Quire's dress:  
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> Queen Maga's gown:  
> 
> 
> And finally, the executioner's gown:  
> 


	18. everything is just fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After returning Max and Rosa to their lives, Alex and Michael face uncertainty about their future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place shortly after chapter ten, "murder in his veins." It contains a dub-con kiss at the very end.
> 
> Hope you're all doing well! Comments always much beloved!

“I am sorry,” is, quite fortunately for him, the first thing out of Max’s mouth. 

As fortunate as that is for Max, it’s less so for Michael, who now seems— _slightly_ —less righteous in his unbridled rage, “You think _sorry_ fixes this? Do you have _any_ idea what we’ve been through? Seven months, Max, it’s been _seven months!_ ”

“I have no excuse,” Max admits, “And I’m sorry.”

“You were _dead,_ ” Michael growls. “You had to save Rosa? Fine. _Fine._ But when you woke up, we told you, we fucking _told_ you to hang back while we sorted things out. Alex had a _plan,_ Max. To set you and Rosa up and explain away everything. And you almost fucking ruined it.”

Max nods, penitent, “I know. I was stupid and I was wrong. I should’ve listened.”

“You nearly got yourself _and_ Rosa _killed._ That kinda defeats the fucking purpose of bringing her back in the first place, don’t you think?”

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Max repeats, frustratingly sincere. 

Somehow Max’s immediate, easy admittance of his wrongdoing is worse than if he tried to defend his actions. It steals away some of the satisfaction that comes in finally getting to be the one delivering the lecture. In finally having his anger fully, uncontestedly justified. No excuses this time, no defense—he’s an adult, there was no one whose life needed saving, he had plenty of time to think about his decision before making it. It’s just Max and his incredibly poor decision making skills. And yet Michael still can’t seem to win.

“Stop apologizing!” He demands.

Max sighs, “What d’you want me to do, Michael? I was wrong and I know it. I should’ve listened to you guys, but instead I …I don’t know. I got too arrogant for my own good.”

Michael scoffs, “Arrogant is putting it lightly, Max.”

“Probably,” Max agrees. “I put Rosa and myself in danger. And then all the rest of you. I deserve all the lectures I’ve gotten today and then some.”

“Yeah, well …” Michael kicks at the bed and it jerks upward slightly at the touch of his powers. “You don’t have to be so fucking _mature_ about it.”

Max tries—and fails—to stifle a laugh, “Is that what’s bothering you? That I’m admitting defeat? Cause here I thought you’d love to hear me say I’m wrong. Thought maybe you’d be recording this for posterity.”

“Well you were wrong about _that,_ too,” Michael declares. He drops down onto the bed with a huff and rests his head in his hands.

“What’s wrong, Michael?” Max asks, sitting beside him. “Besides me.”

Michael glances up at him and immediately turns his back on him. He hates the sincere look in Max’s eyes. The absolute concern coming from him. He hates more than anything that as annoyingly self-righteous and irritatingly overbearing as Max is, he really does love Michael. For every horrible idea and misguided plan he’s had, he’s always had Michael’s—and Isobel’s—best interest at heart.

“Don’t ever fucking scare us like that again,” he grumbles.

“Is it too soon to say I swear on my life?”

Michael gives Max a mental shoves and smirks as he hears him topple off the bed, “Fuck you.”

Despite having just been unceremoniously dumped onto the floor, Max laughs, “Someone’s feeling better.”

“Shut up.”

Max climbs back onto the bed, “I know you’re still mad, but I _am_ sorry, Michael. And also I’m grateful. You guys didn’t have to risk so much to save me, but you did. So thank you.”

Michael shrugs, “It was _our_ turn to play God. You had yours.”

“Yeah. Maybe none of us should do that from now on,” Max suggests.

“You started it.”

“I did. But, as we’ve all learned, I have a habit of thinking I’m right all the time when I’m actually not. Gonna try and break that habit, starting now.”

Michael snickers, “Max Evans, did you just say you’re gonna stop trying to be the boss of everyone?”

“ _Try_ being the key word there,” Max says. “Right now, I’m gonna keep my mouth shut and stick with the plan. Which is, uh, what exactly? Isobel said Alex had something in mind that could explain what happened to me _and_ Rosa?”

Michael nods, “Yeah. He thinks we can pin it all on Noah. Which, you know, it _is_ his fault. This way you guys can come back into the world and all the other victims get justice too. After we got you in the pod, Alex told Isobel to gather up some of Noah’s stuff—practical stuff, he said—and provisions. Non-perishables. Cash and some of her jewelry and stuff. We packed up his car and dumped it out in the desert. No one’s found it yet, probably still gonna be a while. And don’t bother asking what happened to the body, Alex keeps saying it’s better if we don’t know.”

“That’s pretty good as far as getting rid of Noah,” Max comments, “but what about Rosa and me?”

“Not sure. Alex said we can put that on Noah too, but he uh, declined to share how.”

Max sighs, “Well, I guess we brought that on ourselves. Probably should’ve brought Alex in from the start. Kinda stupid of us all to be scrambling around when we could’ve just been working together the whole damn time. Would’ve gotten more done, I bet.”

“No shit,” Michael says.

Max shrugs, then smiles earnestly, “I’m glad you guys’ve worked things out, though.”

Michael shakes his head, “What?”

“You and Alex,” Max clarifies. “I’m happy for you. You deserve it.”

“Max, no,” Michael shakes his head again, “Alex and I, we’re …it’s over. We’re not …we’re not involved anymore.”

Max shoots him a disbelieving look, “What? What d’you mean you’re not involved anymore?”

“I, um,” Michael hesitates. He supposes there’s really no choice but to tell the truth. Max will find out sooner or later, and since Isobel made it clear to Michael that she does not approve of the way he ended things with Alex, he suspects she won’t be particularly kind to him if— _when_ —she talks to Max about it. So he decides to simply force it out, “I left him. Literally. Left him waiting for me. The day you died, we were supposed to meet up, and I …did not show.”

“And, what, he got mad? That doesn’t sound like Alex, I would think he’d understand, given the circumstances—”

“ _Not,_ why I didn’t show,” Michael interrupts. “In fact I didn’t even know about your untimely demise until _after_ Alex …walked into the Wild Pony and caught me …kissing …Maria.”

Max groans, “Dude.”

“I know.”

“Well,” Max sighs, “I guess that _sort of_ explains your completely fucking _batshit_ reaction when I told you she was a suspect.”

“It was not batshit!”

“You know what Liz did when Cam told her that Maria was a suspect? She yelled at her. She didn’t commit _battery._ ”

“Okay, _fine,_ I overreacted. Happy?”

Max shakes his head, “And after all that bull about how you just ‘know’ her. Are you at least happy with _her,_ then?”

Michael winces, “About …that …”

Max takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, “ _Dude._ ”

“I _know._ ”

“You’ve been in love with Alex Manes for like, _ever._ Then you ditch him for his _best friend,_ and you don’t even make it _work_ with her? What the _fuck,_ Michael?”

Michael groans, “I screwed up, Max. I wanted something easy but, it turns out, that’s …” 

“Immature and self-serving?”

“I was gonna say impractical, but yeah. Fuck. I’m lucky either one of them is still willing to be friends with me.”

“God, a man can’t even die for a few months without everything going to hell.”

“Good incentive for you to not do it again,” Michael comments. “That, and the fact that you have to live in a creepy hidden bunker under Alex’s living room.”

“Yeah, about that. He’s really okay with this?” Max asks.

“It was his idea,” Michael claims. 

It wasn’t. It was Michael’s suggestion. A request, actually, which Alex had agreed to without question. Though, he’d _implied_ to Alex that it was Max’s idea. Made sure to give a reasonable explanation that had absolutely nothing to do with the decade’s worth of photographs they’d found months ago and how hiding Max here doubles as an excellent way to have someone around in case the photographer shows up again. Since Alex is still refusing to let Michael—or Kyle or whoever—stay with him at night in case the stalker shows up.

“No one ever comes here,” He explains, “so there’s no chance you’ll be found out before we can uh, reintroduce you to the world. He offered to let Rosa stay here too, at first, but she didn’t want to. Said it reminded her too much of Jim Valenti so Izzy set her up at some hotel.”

“And … _I_ can’t stay at a hotel …because?”

Michael shrugs, “Rosa’s dead, people aren’t looking for her. A wig and some makeup is all it takes to hide her. You’re missing. A missing white cop, your face’s been all over the news. People are gonna notice you.”

Max nods, “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

Michael claps him on the back, “See, we’re smart, you’re not. Now if you’ll excuse me, it sounds like lunch is here, and I’m not sticking around the creepy murder room another minute.”

He hops off the bed and climbs up the ladder into Alex’s living room. Still a little annoyed at Max for all he’s put them through—and maybe feeling a little petty—he snaps the trap door shut with his mind once he’s out and smirks at the way Max shouts that he’s being immature from below. Alex and Liz are in the kitchen, chatting playfully while setting the table, two bags and a tray of milkshakes from the Crashdown on the kitchen counter. It’s all as though hiding a recently resurrected alien in a secret room is just a normal, everyday thing.

“I smell food,” Michael announces, deciding to just ignore the weirdness of his life like everyone else seems to be doing.

Alex glances at his watch, then smirks at Liz, “A minute and a half. Pay up.”

Liz huffs, taking a dollar out of her purse and handing it to Alex, “You suck.”

Alex grins at both Liz’s lighthearted annoyance and Michael’s confusion, “I told you, bring food and you’re guaranteed to get Michael’s attention in two minutes or less.”

“You guys’re making bets on me now?” Michael laughs. “Thanks, I really feel the love.”

Liz kisses his cheek and shoves him into a chair, “Nothing but the best for our favorite genius. Well, favorite _male_ genius.”

“Are you really okay with this, Alex?” Michael asks as Liz heads toward the trap door to fetch Max. Just because it was Michael’s idea, doesn’t mean he wants Alex to feel like he has no choice about it. “Letting Max stay here?”

Alex places the food on the table and nods, “Yeah. Like you said, it _is_ the safest place for him. Besides, it shouldn’t be long. I’m just sorting out the last few details and we should be able to get started on setting him and Rosa up.”

“And what exactly _is_ your plan, there?” Liz asks, rejoining them at the table, Max a step behind her.

“Well,” Alex is uncharacteristically hesitant. “How much do you all trust me?”

“With our lives,” Michael replies wholeheartedly.

Liz nods, “Yeah, basically.”

“Um,” Max looks between the three of them, uncertain, then shrugs, “with our lives, apparently.”

Michael glares at him, “Seriously?”

“What?” Max asks. “I’m sorry, Alex, I realize you literally did save my life the other day—and uh, thank you for that, again—we just haven’t had so much as a conversation since what, high school? I mean, I trust you, I just …missed out on all the bonding activities you guys’ve apparently had.”

“Yeah,” Michael scolds, “and whose fault is that?”

“It’s fine,” Alex interjects before Max can reply, “Guerin. Really. You don’t have to apologize, Max, you’re right. You do have plenty of reason not to trust me, given it was _my_ family that attacked you in the first place.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Max says.

At the same time, Michael declares, “Bullshit he has reason not to trust you!”

“And they’re off,” Liz comments, deciding to focus on her burger instead of the impending argument.

“Guys,” Alex holds out his hands between the two of them, “Let’s just stay focused, okay? I _do_ have a plan, and the fact is, you guys are going to have to really, _really_ trust me to pull it off.”

“We trust you, Alex,” Liz assures him.

“And Rosa?” Alex asks. “She’s really ready for this?”

Liz nods, “It’s not easy for her, being around the pod squad. But she wants her life back. She wants to reunite with our father. Give justice to the other victims. She’s not even close to being ready to forgive either of you two or Isobel but she’s willing to work with you in order to get all of our lives back to …well, as close to normal as we get.”

Michael nods silently as Max whispers, “That’s fair.”

“Okay,” Alex sighs, “then we need to go back …to the murder barn.”

“The _murder barn?_ ”

The response comes from all three of them at once, but while Liz and Michael are astounded that Alex—of all people—would ever want to go back there, Max is simply confused. They haven’t explained that particular ordeal to him yet. As Liz fills him in on the details, Michael stares at Alex, dumbfounded. He can’t understand why Alex would want to go back when he’d been so terrified the first time. He hadn’t been much better the second time, either; he’d actually brought his gun with him then, despite both Kyle and Jenna—whom Liz had called in for backup the moment they realized there may be _another_ alien stalker around—being with them. They’d retrieved the photo albums and examined the secret room thoroughly, but found no signs that anyone other than Michael and Alex had been there since the albums were left. Months, maybe over a year.

Michael hates thinking about that place. That last picture. Seeing Alex so vulnerable, so helpless. So close to death. Knowing that someone decided to take advantage of the situation, even just to snap a picture, makes his blood boil. Alex won’t admit that he’s still uneasy about it, but Michael can tell he’s been tenser than usual. He knows how much Alex hates feeling like he’s being babied, but they’ve all continued their efforts to ensure he’s never alone for too long, even with all the fuss that’s gone on since Max’s return and the fiasco with Project Shepherd. Michael still makes sure Alex gets home safely every night, with the sole exception of the days he’d disappeared in a drunken frenzy after Max and Rosa were kidnapped. He’ll never forgive himself for that stunt. Leaving everyone to deal with things while he ran off to wallow. Risking Alex’s safety. His stalker could’ve used the chaos as an opportunity to do who knows what. If anything had happened to Alex then …

“Why the hell would you wanna go _back_ there?” Max questions once Liz has explained everything to him.

“I’ve …sort of been keeping watch on it,” Alex admits. “I set up some surveillance equipment when we went to investigate the second time. No one has come by at all. Not even a squatter.”

Max shakes his head, “So?”

“So, what if _that’s_ where you’ve been all this time?” Alex proposed. “You _and_ Rosa. You followed Noah there—because, no offense, but following a suspect that hurt your sister into a shady place instead of calling for backup is _exactly_ like you—then went to help Rosa when you saw her, and he trapped you there with her. Then he panicked, and fled.”

“You want us to make it look like Noah was keeping Rosa there? For ten years?” Liz asks.

“I did some digging; the barn and surrounding property once belonged to the Browning family, and by the late nineties, every structure but the barn wound up demolished. Marvin Browning was the last owner. He was sort of a recluse after his wife died and then he just up and vanished, ten years ago. Technically it belongs to the bank now, but it’s just been left there untouched. For a decade. Except for …well, you know.”

“You mean that, other than the person _stalking_ you, no one has been there while Rosa was dead,” Michael concludes.

Alex, all business, nods, “Yeah, exactly. Which means there shouldn’t be anyone to contradict the story. And it’s not like this kind of thing has never happened before, people being held captive for years. All we have to do is get rid of any evidence that the rest of us were there and plant signs that Noah _was._ That, and maybe swap the electronic door out for one less …advanced.”

“I’m sure I can install something,” Michael remarks. “But there’re a lot of holes in this story, Alex. You gotta know that.”

“I do,” Alex admits. He reaches into his pocket and takes out a sheet of paper. He unfolds it and sets it down on the table for them to see, “That’s why I made a list of everything I could think of that people might question. Some of them I think I have pretty good answers for, others, I only have an _idea_ for.”

“That is thorough,” Max commends, looking over Alex’s list.

It takes time to sort everything out. The four of them spend several hours going over Alex’s list, making sure each point on it has a good, solid explanation. Max adds a few other items that Alex hadn’t thought of to the list and they manage to work them into the cover as well. Rosa has some questions of her own when they present the idea to the rest of the group the next day. After a week, they’re sure they’ve covered every angle, and anything left will be up to luck and Isobel’s powers. 

Setting up the physical evidence is somewhat more difficult. Over the course of three days, Kyle slowly smuggles gloves, masks, hair covers and shoe covers from the hospital so they can begin clearing away any signs of their presence. Rosa and Max, naturally, are exempt from the coverings and spend that time giving the hidden room a preemptive scrubbing to rid it of any fingerprints or hairs left behind by either Alex and Michael, or the place’s mysterious former occupant. They double, triple check that—other than the tiny bathroom Michael and Alex hadn’t noticed the first time—there are no other hidden rooms.

As soon as they’re confident that the room can’t be traced to any of them, they begin planting Noah’s possessions. Max, Michael and Kyle walk through the area in different pairs of Noah’s shoes while Isobel selects a few items of his clothing to leave there. They collect the small stash of money and fake documents he’d hidden in his cave and place them in the desk. Remove most of the books, save for those that would have been of interest to Noah and handful of art books, under the assumption that he’d have wanted Rosa to be _comfortable_ in her time there. They gather up food from the back of Isobel’s pantry—items she swears Noah had purchased himself—and place it on the shelves, along with a stock of food and water Alex had found stored away in the Project Shepherd bunker. They bring in the blanket Noah had used to cover up his pod while Rosa had been inside of it and swap out the shelves of acetone for some camping equipment Noah bought that had been sitting in the back of Isobel’s garage for at least two years. Michael removes the electronic door and installs a new one, sturdy enough that Rosa couldn’t be expected to get through, but that—given enough effort—Max feasibly could. 

Once everything is set, Max and Rosa settle into the room as best they can, while the rest of them return to their lives and carry on pretending they know nothing about it. The two of them need to stay there, alone, to make sure the place seems fully lived in. It’s a grueling wait, and Michael finds himself constantly tempted to rush back out to the barn to make sure they’re really okay. He knows he can’t. They have to wait, have to seem as though they had no idea there even _is_ a barn, much less that Max and Rosa are there. Michael’s pretty sure it’s the longest two weeks of his life, and he practically runs his truck off the road on his way to the hospital when he finally gets the call from Isobel that the two have made it back to town.

The spectacle that follows is one that Michael has feared for his entire life. Reporters flood into Roswell to get a piece of the story about the not-so-dead girl and the long missing cop who rescued her. They’re eager for the gory details of a small town serial killer and how he managed to avoid getting caught for so long. The first time around—the days following Max’s “disappearance” and Isobel reporting to Sheriff Valenti a fit-for-humans version of Noah’s abuse—had only gotten local attention. This time Michael feels like every reporter on the planet has arrived.

Isobel’s endless stream of _no comment_ is—unbeknownst to the press—accompanied by a series of mental pushes to convince them all that the story isn’t really worth as much as they think. She delivers an excellent performance when she, Max and Liz—speaking for Rosa—hold what they demand be the _only_ interview about the situation. Tearfully she discusses how Noah had her convinced her was the perfect man, until the day she mentioned a cold case Max was looking into. She tells the world how he threatened her, how Max intervened to rescue her. She apologizes to the families of all his victims for not realizing it sooner. Liz offers her forgiveness, commends her on her bravery in coming forward and reporting Noah the moment she knew the truth. Reminds the world that _Noah_ and not Isobel was the murderer and expresses her hope that the families of the other victims won’t take it out on her.

When Max speaks, he tells them how fooled he was as well. How Noah had always seemed like such a good, kind man. How sinister he was to trick even him. Then he praises Rosa, remarks on how strong she is for all she’s survived. Weaves a tale of how amazed he was to learn that—despite all of her fear and pain—she’d never given up the hope that she’d make it home. He speaks the name of every victim, makes a statement about the power of compassion, how none of them should have been ignored by the system in the first place.

Most of the reporters leave Roswell after the conference, either satisfied with what they have or under Isobel’s influence. Those that linger get only more of the same. A few try to dig into their histories, only to find themselves blocked by an attorney Alex was able to contact through Flint. Michael doesn’t like being indebted to him, but he can’t deny his gratitude for that bit of help. And his happiness on Alex’s behalf. Even _if_ he doesn’t quite like how the attorney—a former Army Ranger with a jawline to rival Captain America’s—seems a little too friendly with Alex. He tells himself it’s because the guy was once Project Shepherd; though he wasn’t aware there were any _remaining_ survivors, he’d resigned upon learning that aliens had been captured and tortured when the project first began.

At the hospital, Kyle has to take a huge risk to falsify Max’s tests so he can pass for human, but it seems to pay off. The police have Michael on edge every second as they comb through the barn and surrounding land for evidence, for any hint as to where Noah could have gone. He’s terrified that they’ll find something—anything—that could tear a hole in their story. But days pass and nothing happens. No one is questioning Max’s story. The attorney Flint set Alex up with keeps Arturo safe from ICE—with a little help from Isobel. The investigation dies out. The remaining reporters leave. Yet another political scandal and racist presidential tweet soon captures the nation’s attention. Finally, nine months and three days after Max’s death, they dare to believe they have their lives back.

They have a small celebration at the Crashdown that night. It’s nothing special, just a little something to close the book on their ordeal and move forward with their lives. It’s not the first time all eight of them have been alone together, but it is the first time it’s happened with nothing awful causing it. Rosa makes a quick speech, announcing that she’s planning to leave town for a while to go to a rehab facility. She adds that she’s happy for Max’s second chance, but she’s not quite ready to forgive him, Isobel and Michael yet, then excuses herself, still not up to spending extended time with them.

Max makes a speech as well, thanking them all for saving him. He apologizes for all the pain he caused, for not discussing the matter with them before acting. Admits he was arrogant, after killing Noah. He tells them that—while he doesn’t regret bringing Rosa back—he had no place playing God the way he did. Michael rubs idly at his hand while he listens, knowing that Max is talking just as much about his unwanted healing as he is about Rosa. He makes a mental note to _consider_ forgiving him for that. Some day.

All in all, it’s a nice evening. There’s not much Michael can complain about. He has his family back, safe and sound. The investigations into them are—more or less—done with. They’ve made incredible strides in dismantling Project Shepherd and gained a new ally, as much as Michael may hate Flint. While there’s still plenty of unwarranted animosity toward the Ortechos, many people have suddenly switched to being sympathetic to them, with some calling Rosa a hero for surviving a ten year captivity. It doesn’t erase the crimes Michael, Max and Isobel committed against them, but it’s a step toward atonement for it. And Rosa is on a good path. She’s reunited with Arturo, building a relationship with Kyle, catching up with Liz, Maria, and Alex. Given Liz her blessing—only somewhat reluctantly—to date Max despite everything. Isobel and Kyle are growing closer, and as much as Michael can’t stand him, he knows the Kyle would never hurt her. Things are working out. Everything is just fine. He should be happy.

He hates that he’s not. There’s still an emptiness in the pit of his stomach, an ache in his chest. He feels hollow, like someone has carved all of his insides out of him. Like his breath isn’t quite reaching his lungs, his heart not quite beating. He hates feeling this way. He hates that he’s not happy even though he ought to be. He hates that he’s still stuck in the mud hole of misery he always has been. He hates that even though he’s grateful for all his loved ones and their happiness, there’s still that bitterness deep inside of him. Most of all, he hates that he knows exactly why.

Alex has barely said a word to him since they set up the barn. He’s been keeping all of their interactions strictly professional, focusing on the larger picture above all else. Michael shouldn’t be surprised or hurt by that. Alex always seems to know when to put aside personal matters for a greater good. It makes sense that he’d devote himself so fully to seeing them safely through to the other side. And Alex doesn’t owe Michael his time. He’s certainly dedicated plenty of it to saving Max and keeping their secrets hidden and trying to end Project Shepherd. He’s done more for Michael than he could ask, more than he could ever repay. And he’s never asked them for anything in return. So it really, really shouldn’t hurt.

Even so, it _does_ hurt. He misses Alex, misses the delicate friendship they’d been building. He feels it slipping away from him and he’s starting to wonder if maybe he’d only imagined having it in the first place. Maybe Alex has only been treating him like an ally, a _teammate,_ and Michael has just been reading too much into it. If that’s the case, Michael has no one to blame but himself. For mocking Alex about his father, for pretending their relationship never happened when Alex tried to make a clean break, for Maria. He has a long list of wrongs he’s done to Alex, but Michael suspects Santa Fe was the final straw. Even if Alex has forgiven it, all of it, to expect him to continue being—or at least, _trying_ to be—his friend after that might just be too much to ask for. If it is, Michael will have to settle for being a friend of a friend. And he’s not sure he can do that without ripping his heart in half.

“What’s got you so down?” Liz asks, sitting across from him at the counter.

“Nothing,” Michael mutters. 

They’d all been sitting around the counter—eating and laughing and actually getting to hang out like _normal_ people—until a few minutes ago. Alex, Max, and Maria had all stepped outside to make phone calls, Liz had slipped away to use the bathroom, and Isobel had insisted she needed Kyle to snap a few pictures of her for her instagram. Not wanting to ruin everyone’s good mood, Michael had decided to take the moment of solitude as an opportunity to mope quietly. He’d meant to be finished before anyone came back.

Liz nods behind him, to where Isobel and Kyle now appear to be flirting as they pick at a basket of fries on the table between them, “Is it them?”

“What, you mean my sister cozying up to Dr. Kavorkian over there?” He questions.

“Hey, you can’t blame Kyle for what _she_ made him do,” Liz scolds.

Michael sighs, “Yeah, I know.”

“I think they’re actually pretty good for each other,” Liz comments. “I think their egos cancel each other out. Kyle actually did a really good job keeping Isobel grounded when Rosa and Max were missing. He’s a rock, you know? I understand exactly why she’s into him. And I think maybe she can be for him—”

Michael reaches out and touches Liz’s shoulder, “Liz. Liz. Liz. I’m gonna stop you right there. I’m never gonna like Kyle Valenti or want him near my family. I acknowledge that he is a trustworthy ally and sometimes I have to work with him. If he and Iz get together and he treats her right, I’ll grit my fucking teeth and deal with it. Don’t try to convince me to do more than that.”

Liz grins, “Fine, fine. So, why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you, then?”

“Didn’t we just establish—”

“I’m not stupid, Michael,” Liz says. “I know they’re not what’s bothering you, I was just doing them both a favor by testing those waters before they have to. Not that I know _for sure_ that they’re an item, but they’re totally an item.”

“Can we be done with this conversation?”

“What conversation?” Maria asks, sitting down at the counter beside Michael.

“There’s no conversation,” Michael says.

“Michael’s pouting,” Liz remarks.

“Oh, great, what about this time?” Max asks, sitting down on Michael’s other side.

“I’m not pouting,” Michael mutters.

“Yes you are,” Max replies.

“He’s totally pouting,” Liz adds.

“One hundred and one percent pouting,” Maria agrees.

“I’m _not pouting,_ ” Michael insists. The counter shakes a bit and he glares down at his empty plate as the three of them share a look.

“You realize we _know_ what you’re upset about, don’t you?” Liz questions.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Michael says. “I’m not upset.”

“You know,” Maria comments, “now that it’s out there, I honestly can’t believe none of us ever noticed before. I mean, it’s so _obvious.”_

“Hey,” Max complains, “speak for yourself. I noticed it when we were kids.”

 _“Fine,_ ” Liz teases, “gold star for you, Evans.”

“You guys about done talking like I’m not here?” Michael growls.

“Dude,” Max grasps his shoulder, “just go talk to him already.”

Michael smiles coldly at him, “Bite me.”

Max just laughs, “You’ll really never change, will you?”

“Forget it,” Liz says, snatching a few plates off the counter, “if Mikey wants to be a stubborn man-child, let him. Come help me clean the dishes, I don’t think anyone’s gonna want anything else.”

Michael rolls his eyes and huffs as Max climbs over the counter to help Liz. They don’t understand. None of them do. How could they? Sure, their relationship has had its hardships, but it’s nothing like his and Alex’s is. It’s not tainted by the poison Michael carries in his soul.

“Michael,” Maria takes his hand gently, “look at me.”

He huffs, but complies, “Yes?”

“Talk to him,” she urges.

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Why?” Maria asks. “Because of _us?_ That’s pathetic, Michael. It’s just a cop-out and you know it. We were _never_ real. Not romantically, anyway. We were passion and desire and companionship, at _best._ Frankly we’re a brotp, if anything.”

“Please tell me you did not just use that phrase,” Michael groans.

Maria ignores him, “You’re in love with Alex.”

“Yeah,” he nods, certain that he’s wearing that stupid lovestruck face he always does when he thinks about Alex, “I know I am. I always will be. But it’s too late.”

“Bullshit. Tell him the damn truth, Michael, he deserves that much.”

“It’s not that simple,” Michael says, taking his hand back and rubbing his face.

She smiles reassuringly and touches his shoulder, “Sure it is. Just _talk_ to him.”

Michael shakes his head, “What if he doesn’t want to talk to me? What if he’s moved on? Then what, Maria? What do I do if after everything, he won’t take me back?”

“I don’t know,” Maria admits. “But at least you’ll know. It’s gotta be better than you moping around and him never getting to hear the truth.”

“You guys’ve been talking about this, haven’t you?”

Maria shrugs, “A little. Few weeks back, he and Liz and I got together. Had a few drinks. And by a few I mean a few _too many._ We uh, kinda cried it out. Had a long overdue discussion, about a lot of things. It’s still awkward but it was a big step forward. I don’t remember every detail, but I do recall him referring to you as the love of his life and making some ludicrous statement about how he doesn’t deserve you but I do.”

“You’re making that up,” Michael says.

“She’s not,” Liz comments, returning to grab the last of the plates. She gives Michael a pointed look, but returns to the kitchen without another word.

“Alex _insists_ he doesn’t remember that part,” Maria continues. “Or the part where he finally got drunk enough to stop being sad and actually get angry and called me a backstabbing liar, among other things. I honestly can’t tell if he’s lying or not, and he won’t talk about it again, but that’s not important. The point is, Michael, that you two are both _clearly_ still in love. Hell, even _Isobel_ knows it.”

“I don’t know how to make a relationship work,” Michael confesses.

“No kidding,” Maria says, with a slight laugh. “But so what? You don’t have to dive right into one. In fact you probably shouldn’t. But you could _at least_ get on the same damn page about your feelings for each other.”

“Yeah, but then what?” Michael asks. “We always just …fall back on the same pattern and tear ourselves apart. How the hell are we supposed to _not_ do that?”

“ _Talking,_ for one,” Maria answers. “Really, you could both use a good therapist.”

“Thanks.”

Maria sighs, “That’s not an insult, Michael. It’s normal. When something’s wrong, you get help. I go to a group session once a month to cope with my mom’s condition.”

“When did that start?” Michael asks. He doesn’t recall her ever mentioning that before.

“I went to the first one about two weeks before we broke up. We were such a mess, though, so I never said anything,” Maria explains. “Liz came with me once. Kyle—actually, Kyle got me in touch with the group in the first place—he’s been trying to convince Alex to see someone. He’s probably trying to get Isobel to consider it too. But you know how Alex is. He’ll bleed to death before he spills a drop of blood on anyone else.”

Michael nods, “Yeah, that’s for sure.”

“Anyway, like I said, you should talk to someone. They don’t have to know _all_ the details, we can come up with something that makes it sound human.”

“You’d help me with that?” Michael asks.

“Sure, why not? _If_ you actually do it,” Maria replies.

“I’ll think about,” Michael offers.

_“Good.”_ Maria states. “Now we just need to get Alex to do the same. Hell, maybe if you see a therapist, he’ll be more willing to try it.”

“Don’t hold your breath, DeLuca,” Isobel warns, walking by them with the now empty fry basket. “Kyle’s not the only one trying to get Alex to see a counselor. And _no,_ not with my powers, just plain dropping hints.”

“Pot and kettle, Evans,” Maria replies.

“Joke’s on you, I had my first session last week,” Isobel declares.

“Whatever, quit eavesdropping,” Maria scolds. She huffs when Isobel walks into the kitchen, “Nosy.” 

“You’re the one who just admitted you’ve been talking about me and Alex behind our backs,” Michael points out.

“Don’t say it like that,” Maria replies. “We only have your best interests at heart.”

“Hey, uh, guys,” Kyle approaches cautiously, “I don’t mean to interrupt, but where’s Alex?”

***

It’s a highly delicate thing, creating a coverup. The details have to be perfect, but not so much as to be _noticeably_ perfect. If things don’t fall in line enough, people will question it. If things fall in line too much, it could seem fabricated. Every lie must be parallel to the truth. Must contain enough reality in it that even by searching, the lie is hard to spot. Easy to explain away or warp to sound like something else. As much as he hates to admit it, Alex has to give his father and ancestors their due; it takes skill to create and maintain a lie of this magnitude.

That, he thinks, is what makes him so good at it. He learned from the best. He had to, in order to survive. His whole childhood was spent coming up with lies. Explaining away bruises to teachers and concocting tales to his father that justified missing his curfew. Finding ways to avoid coming out without actually claiming to be straight. Hiding his feelings behind makeup and sarcasm. Lying comes naturally to him now, as easily as breathing. That doesn’t make it any less exhausting.

It’s a relief when the smoke settles and things begin to calm down. When the police let go of the investigation into Noah’s whereabouts in order to focus on new matters. When the reporters leave. A weight lifts off of Alex’s shoulders. There’s more work to be done, so much more, but at least this part is over. Everyone is alive and safe and happy. For just a moment, Alex can stop and take a breath before he gets back to work.

Unfortunately, it also means a drastic change in the group’s dynamic. Resurrecting Max and getting him and Rosa back into the world had required frequent meetings and teamwork. His friends wanted him around for that, because he had a job to do alongside all of theirs. Dismantling Project Shepherd is different. Sure, sometimes they’ll still need to get together to handle whatever new obstacle comes their way. But for the most part, it’s Alex’s job and Alex’s alone. His cross to bear. Kyle constantly tries to claim he’s as tangled in it as Alex, but Jim had already begun unweaving the threads from around the Valenti line. 

The files they’ve uncovered suggest that he’d been trying to get the captive aliens released from Caulfield for years, that he had hoped to end the whole situation peacefully. His letters to Kyle suggested that he knew about Michael, Max and Isobel and took measures to hide their secret. Hardly enough to compensate for all of his wrongdoings, but plenty to absolve Kyle of any remaining accountability. Alex, on the other hand, has an endless river of family sins to atone for. And if he’s ever going to succeed in that, he’s going to have to stay focused and stop letting himself be bothered by the sudden shift.

He knew from the start that it would be this way. He swore to himself he wouldn’t be upset when the time came and he lost his excuse to spend extra time with everyone. With Michael. His purpose now doesn’t come from spending time with everyone, sorting out their plans and going on little mini adventures to find alien artifacts or rescue missions. His Project Shepherd work is solo. He doesn’t have to exclude himself from the group entirely, but he can’t try to keep things the way they have been. Now that Max and Rosa are settled, they all have things to do outside of alien matters. Lives to live. Alex can’t let himself interfere with that. He has to find the right balance of being around enough to let them know he’s always available when they need him, but not so much as to overstay his welcome. He’s even tried to get some practice in by staying as professional as possible around them all.

And yet, now that the time has come, he’s still upset. He’d gotten used to feeling like he belonged intrinsically to this family. He knows better than that, though. His belonging—to _any_ family—is conditional. He needs to be of use in order to be welcome. Not that he’s _unwelcome,_ per se, he’s just not particularly good company outside of unraveling government conspiracies and resurrecting dead aliens. In a purely social situation, Alex has never had much to offer anyone. A bit of conversation here, a shoulder to cry on there. There’s not much else to him unless he’s of use. He’s not someone that gets picked first—in any context—and he knows that. He’s okay with that.

He reminds himself of that fact as he steps back into the Crashdown. He hadn’t meant to take so long on his call. What had started as a simple attempt to thank Flint one last time had stretched into a much longer conversation. Now that he’s back inside, it seems everyone has branched off to do their own thing. Kyle and Isobel have moved to a table where he appears to be taking pictures of her on her phone. Liz and Max, he can see through the window into the kitchen, playfully shoving each other as they wash the dishes. Michael and Maria are still sitting at the counter together, talking very seriously. Maria is holding Michael’s hand and he’s looking at her with a tender expression. One that never fails to make Alex melt.

Only it’s not for him anymore. That soft, loving look that renders Alex seventeen and helplessly in love. It isn’t his. It’s been so, so long since Michael last looked at Alex that way, and he never will again. Alex can wish and dream it all he wants, but there’s nothing he can do to change that. Michael is his friend now and only his friend. If Alex wants to keep him, he’s going to have to give him his space, just like he’s been trying to. He’s going to have to accept that Michael’s breakup with Maria apparently isn’t as final as Maria had claimed. Suddenly Alex is painfully aware of just how much he doesn’t belong here.

His friends all have each other. They’ve found love, happiness. He’s glad for them. It’s a good thing, it really is. It’s just not for him. That happy ending, the soft epilogue. As much as he wants it, it simply isn’t something he gets to have. It’s not something he _deserves._ Somehow, every time he thinks he’s accepted that, it finds a new way to hurt him. Like with a reminder that while all of his friends are finding their way to happily ever after, he’s getting in the way. Ruining the mood with his broken soul. If there’s one thing Alex always knows, it’s when he’s not wanted.

He doesn’t bother to make some excuse or announce that he’s leaving. No sense in disrupting them, after all. He doubts anyone will notice that he’s left, not for a while anyway. Most likely Kyle will text him in a few hours, subtly trying to ask after his health. Alex will assure him that he’s fine, he was just tired, and things will go back to normal. He’ll keep to himself for a few days, get as much work done from home as he can. Then he’ll start casually texting Liz and Maria and Isobel. Lightly, playfully. He’ll send Kyle a little something, teasing him about his sudden connection with Isobel. Maybe to Max, too, to make sure he’s doing okay in resettling. He’ll show up when Rosa is ready to leave for rehab, hug her tight and offer as much strength as he can.

Michael …Alex isn’t sure how to proceed with Michael. It kills him to think about not speaking to Michael every day. But there are boundaries he has to maintain in order to hold onto their friendship, and he’s not sure he’ll be able to stick to them if he keeps trying to spend time with him. He hates it, but he’s going to have to keep their interactions to a minimum; group meetings or directly alien related. If there’s no agenda to stick to, he’ll break their unspoken contract. And if he does that, he’ll lose Michael for good.

He keeps that in mind the whole way back to the cabin. Reminds himself that if he wants to keep Michael, keep any of his friends, he has to keep himself under control. He has to focus on his work and keep his emotions in check. He can be upset about his trash heap of a life at the cabin, when he’s alone. Then it’s back to work. No problem. It’s fine. He’s fine. Everything is just fine.

When he reaches the cabin, Alex spends a few minutes debating whether he should try to go to sleep or not. Eventually, he settles on not, and decides to get back to work. He removes his prosthetic, changes into more comfortable clothes, and sits on his couch in front of the fireplace with his laptop. The crackling of the fire is a soothing sound as he opens the files he downloaded at the facility Rosa and Max were being kept in and prepares to sort through them. A soothing sound that is, unfortunately, interrupted not five minutes in by his first proximity alarm going off on his phone. Annoyed, he checks the camera, expecting to see an animal wandering about in the dark. Instead, he sees an all too familiar vehicle heading his way. Realizing he should’ve known it would happen sooner or later, Alex grabs his crutch and gets off the couch with a groan. He hurries into his bedroom to get his leg back on, unwilling to deal with his visitor so unbalanced.

He opens the door just as the knocking begins and sighs, “Trevor. What’re you doing here?”

Trevor smiles, “Not happy to see me, bunny?”

“It’s almost two in the morning. Why’re you here?”

“I wanted to see you,” Trevor remarks with a shrug. “I missed you.”

“Trevor, I told you to leave me alone,” Alex reminds him.

“And yet you answered the door,” Trevor points out.

Alex has no answer to that. He could counter that Trevor would just keep knocking if he didn’t answer, or come back another time. He could bring up the fact that Trevor is more than capable of getting through a simple wooden door, whether by picking the lock or simply breaking it down. He could express his concern that Trevor would just wait outside until Alex has to leave—something he’s done on multiple occasions.

Whatever Alex says next, though, it won’t matter. Trevor will have his own counterpoint to bring up. He’ll have an argument ready for absolutely anything Alex could say, just like he always does. Because he’s right. Alex didn’t need to open the door. Sure, Trevor could’ve gotten in or found some way to corner him. That doesn’t change the fact that Alex didn’t have to open the door. And if Alex is being completely honest with himself, he doesn’t _know_ why he did. He almost feels as though he’d been acting on autopilot, like the decision was simply _put_ into his mind. It’s always been like that with Trevor; Alex can’t seem to help himself around him.

Trevor smirks at him, “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Knowing that there’s really no way around it at this point, Alex sighs again and steps aside, “Fine.”

“What a quaint little place,” Trevor comments as he walks passed and glances around the cabin. “You really live here?”

Closing the door, Alex rolls his eyes, “No, I just pretend to. It’s a _very_ elaborate lie.”

“You’re so cute,” Trevor remarks, reaching out to pinch Alex’s cheek.

“You still haven’t said why you’re here,” Alex says, swatting his hand away.

“I told you,” Trevor replies, “I missed you. Sometimes people just show up because they want to.”

Alex closes his laptop and waves a hand at the couch, “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

He walks into the kitchen and busies himself making coffee. He needs something to keep himself steady if he’s going to deal with Trevor Teave tonight. His head already feels fuzzy, no doubt from dealing with all the commotion surrounding Rosa and Max’s return to the living world. And from the evening’s earlier activities; sometimes, Alex thinks, socializing is even more exhausting than taking apart government conspiracies. Vaguely, he thinks he hears his phone buzz—much earlier than anticipated—and reminds himself he has to offer Kyle his pitiful _I was tired_ excuse. 

“Do you really have to smoke that in here?” He asks when he returns to the living room to find that Trevor has—unsurprisingly—lit up a cigarette.

Trevor smirks and blows the smoke in Alex’s direction just to annoy him, “You _said_ to make myself comfortable.”

He did say that, Alex recalls hazily. He rolls his eyes, “Whatever.”

He sets the two cups down on the coffee table and sits beside Trevor before picking up his phone. To his surprise, he has no missed calls or messages. He could have sworn he heard it go off, though. Perhaps, he thinks, it was Trevor’s phone that he heard.

“What’s bothering you, bunny?” Trevor asks.

“Besides that obnoxious nickname or you dumping ashes on my floor?”

Trevor snickers, “It’s not that nice of a floor, _bunny.”_

Alex groans, “Those things are bad for you, you know.”

“You concerned about my health?” Trevor teases.

“Not particularly,” Alex admits, “but secondhand smoke is a thing.”

“You’ll be fine,” Trevor says. “Now why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Nothing is bothering me, Trevor,” Alex insists, picking his mug up from the table and letting the warmth soak into his palms as he holds it between them. “Why would anything be bothering me? Everything is just fine.”

“I should think so. Your missing buddy is back. And your little friend’s sister has risen from the grave. My oh my, isn’t that _something?_ I’d think you’d be _thrilled.”_

“I am,” Alex replies. It’s the truth. He is thrilled for Rosa and Max. And Liz and Arturo and Michael and everyone else.

Trevor presses the black cigarette out against Alex’s coffee table and gives him a mocking smirk, “Is it your little cowboy boyfriend? Because he doesn’t want you anymore?”

“I told you, Trevor, everything is _fine,_ ” Alex snaps.

“Don’t lie to me, bunny. _I’ve_ never lied to _you,_ so why are _you_ trying to lie to _me?_ I only came here because I care about you. I was worried.”

Alex shakes his head, “What’re you talking about?”

“I stopped by that cute little diner you used to blather on about all the time, saw all your friends through the window, having a nice time. Without you. So why on Earth are you here, all alone, while all of your friends are enjoying the evening _together?”_

Alex sighs, “I just …I was tired.”

“Don’t _lie_ to me, Alex,” Trevor warns.

Alex tenses despite himself, hating the way his weakness spills forward when Trevor is around. He shrugs, “I realized that …I had upgraded from third to seventh wheel. So I left.”

“And what did _they_ have to say about that, these so-called _friends_ of yours?” Trevor inquires.

“I didn’t tell them. I just slipped out. No one noticed,” Alex says. He feels weird, like he can’t stop himself from talking, but that’s just what it’s like to talk to Trevor.

“You just left? And no one noticed?” Trevor questions. “Some friends. And after all the work you did for … _Max._ ”

He says Max’s name oddly, like he’s amused by it, though Alex can’t imagine why. Or how Trevor knows the truth about what happened. Trevor always does seem to have more information than Alex realizes. His head is fuzzy and he can’t make sense of it at the moment.

“I didn’t do it for gratitude, Trevor,” Alex insists. He didn’t. He did it because it was right. He sets his mug back on the table, barely realizing he hasn’t actually drunk from it.

“Of course not,” Trevor says. There’s not a hint of sarcasm for once. “You did it because you can’t help yourself. When someone needs you, you come. You were _born_ to help others. It’s honestly such a shame your little cowboy doesn’t appreciate that about you. Or any of your friends for that matter.”

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?” Alex demands.

Trevor shrugs innocently, “I’m just saying, it doesn’t seem to me that these people reciprocate your concern for them.”

“Are you trying to say my friends don’t _care_ about me?” Alex asks.

“No, no,” Trevor shakes his head and rests his hand on the back of Alex’s neck, “I’m simply suggesting they don’t care as much as _you_ do.”

“You’re wrong,” Alex states, pushing Trevor’s hand off of him.

“Am I, though? Am I _really?_ ” Trevor asks. “I mean, they’re off having their little soiree, and you’re sitting here at home. By yourself.”

“I’m not by myself,” Alex points out.

Trevor snorts, “Alex, you’re not by yourself because _I’m_ here. Not only did you _not_ know I was planning to drop in, you most decidedly did not _want_ me to.”

“And yet,” Alex retorts, “here you are.”

“And yet, here I am,” Trevor agrees. “The only reason you aren’t alone right now. Because after everything you’ve done for them, now that they don’t _need_ you around, they don’t have a moment to spare for you. I bet they haven’t even noticed you’re gone yet.”

“I don’t expect them to,” Alex says.

“Oh, my sweet bunny. If these people truly appreciated all that you do for them, they’d have noticed your absence immediately,” Trevor replies. “That’s why I _came_ here.”

“What the hell do _you_ have to do with _my_ friends?”

“I saw all the fuss on the news about your pal,” Trevor explains. “It worried me. I knew exactly how the scene would play out. All of your friends together, having a wonderful time. Celebrating the return of loved ones once lost. And you, little bunny, all by yourself. Ever the wallflower. Unnoticed. Eventually departing, still unnoticed. Spending the remainder of the night all alone, convincing yourself you’re not bothered by it. Probably doing something that’ll help keep your _space cowboy_ safe.”

Alex looks away from Trevor, unable to meet his eyes. He takes a deep breath to calm himself, then picks up the mug again. Swallows down a mouthful of coffee and hopes to keep away the tears he feels beginning to form at just how accurate Trevor’s idea of his night had been.

“And _still,_ ” Trevor continues, “no one notices. But as soon as they need something from you, they’ll suddenly remember you exist. And you’ll come running with a smile on your face, like they’re the best friends a man could ask for. Bleeding yourself dry for people who would never do the same for you.”

“Stop,” Alex snaps, getting to his feet. “You don’t know them.”

Still sitting, Trevor smirks, “You really think they’d do for you even _half_ of what you do for them?”

Alex glares at him, “Shut up, Trevor.”

“Let me ask you this, then. If _you_ were the one whose life had been on the line, the one in need of rescuing, what would they have done?”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I asked. What would they have done if yours was the life they needed to save? If they had to put in months and _months_ of work—dedicating every moment and risking discovery at every turn—for _you,_ instead of _Max,_ would they?”

“I’m not in danger,” Alex replies.

“It’s a hypothetical, my love.”

Alex shakes his head, “They wouldn’t have the resources I had, so they couldn’t. And I, I wouldn’t _want_ them to.”

“Did … _Max_ want you to? Wouldn’t _he_ have understood if you all couldn’t save him?”

“Of course he would’ve understood. Max puts his family over his own life, easily.”

“And yet,” Trevor remarks, “you all took the time to save him. Despite the risk. Because that’s how much he matters to you all. So my _question,_ Alex, is would they do that for _you?_ ”

“I just told you—”

Trevor cuts him off, “Forget the _resources._ Forget your _insistence_ on martyrdom. Would they put everything they had into saving you as they did your friend or not?”

Alex turns away from him, unable to answer. He knows the answer. He doesn’t even have to think about it. No. The answer is no. There is absolutely no way that anyone, not even friends as good as his, would put in the same kind of effort they’d put in for Max, for Alex. He wouldn’t even dream of asking them to _consider_ it. His life isn’t worth that effort. _He’s_ expendable. They’re not. Alex’s life is a small price to pay for theirs.

Not that they wouldn’t try _at all._ They’re his friends. They care about him. They want him in their lives—to a point, at least. They’d try to find a way to help him. Search for an answer that could bring him back to them. But a quest that took the same time and effort as the one that revived Max? Out of the question. Even if they had access to the same resources Alex had, it would be too much. Better to simply cut their losses. It would be a nice funeral, he thinks. They’d pay a touching tribute to him. Toast to his memory on his birthday for a few years, until all thoughts of him faded away and he became nothing but someone they knew once. A sad tale of an old friend who can’t be with them anymore.

Alex is okay with that. He is. It’s nothing new. It’s something he’s always known, ever since he was a kid. Just the way things are. He’s not meant to be loved and cherished the way others are. He knows that. So it’s nothing to be upset about. That doesn’t mean he has to say it out loud.

“It doesn’t matter,” He mutters.

“Answer the question, Alex.”

Sighing, Alex shakes his head, “No. I don’t think they would.”

Behind him, he hears Trevor rise off the couch, “Was that so hard?”

“Yes,” Alex admits.

“I don’t see why. You already knew it, deep down,” Trevor says. “Those people don’t care about you like I do, Alex. They don’t come to you unless they need something.”

“That’s not …”

“What, true?” Trevor asks. “Of course it’s true. You know I don’t lie, Alex, not when the truth hurts so much more.”

“They’re my friends,” Alex insists. He doesn’t want to hear Trevor—or anyone—speak poorly of the people he loves most.

“Oh, bunny,” Trevor croons, standing so close Alex can feel his breath on his neck. “Tell me, when was the last time anyone showed up just because they wanted to? The last time someone just _wanted you?”_

Alex knows exactly when that was. Just once, a decade ago. The day Michael arrived at the museum to see him. The one and only time in his entire life that someone simply wanted Alex, for _Alex._ Not because they needed a favor or to borrow something or to recreate the past. Michael came to Alex that day, just because he wanted Alex. Because, in the sweet innocence of youth, he had loved him.

That moment isn’t for Trevor. Alex has never told anyone—not even Liz and Maria—the full details of it. He’d told them—and Trevor—that it had been a coincidence, Michael being there. A happy, wonderful coincidence. He’s never let anyone know that Michael sought him out that day. That moment is for the two of them, and no one else.

He shakes his head, voice barely a whisper, “Never.”

Trevor’s arms wrap around him from behind and squeeze him tight, “That’s a lie, little bunny. _I’m_ here, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” Alex concedes, “you’re here.”

Trevor turns him around, “I love you, Alex. I always have, since the night we met.”

He knows, on some level, that that’s true. Trevor does love him. Not for him, though. Trevor loves Alex the way one loves an expensive car or a jealously guarded treasure. A fancy pet. A prized possession. But really, what more can someone like Alex possibly hope for?

“I know,” he says.

He doesn’t try to stop the tears as Trevor presses their lips together.


	19. burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael struggles to grow his powers and work on himself during his efforts to reach Alex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In apology for not updating last week (and preemptive apology bc I'm like 99% sure I won't be able to next week either) I present to you all some mentally healthy Michael Guerin growth. Today you get a few segments of tooth rotting fluff and consensual sexual content. There are, however, mentions of child abuse, homophobia and conversion therapy. Also angst, because I'm me.

“You need a break,” Kyle declares.

“I don’t,” Michael pants, though the sweat pouring down his trembling body and the fact that he’s barely standing are not helping his argument.

“Yes, you do,” Kyle says. “You keep pushing like this you’re gonna kill yourself.”

“Kyle’s right, Michael,” Max heaves, hunched over and leaning on his knees. “It’s time to call it, we can’t keep this up.”

“I need to get stronger,” Michael insists.

_“Michael,_ ” Liz scolds. “You agreed that you would stop when we say it’s enough. That’s _enough._ ”

“Not yet.”

“Don’t …” Isobel wheezes, sitting on the floor, “make me …make you …”

Michael wipes the sweat from his brow and says, “If you can make me, it proves I need more training.”

They’ve been at it for hours today. Training in what was once the fitness center of the old Project Shepherd base. Him against Max and Isobel, unleashing all the powers they’d been honing over the years. The telekinesis, the lightning, the mind control. Michael has to shield himself from all of it and take the both of them down. And have enough strength to walk after. After weeks of trying, so far he’s only ever managed to incapacitate one of them at a time, the other getting the edge over him soon after. It’s usually Isobel, piercing into his mind and shutting him down from the inside out. He’s gotten better at resisting her influence, but now she’s devised a new tactic. A decidedly cruel one Michael was entirely unprepared for. 

Flooding his mind with images of Alex. Memories, good and bad. Dreams hidden away in his subconscious. Her own memories of him. He’d collapsed into a sobbing heap on the floor the first time she did it. She followed a heartbeat later, immediately overcome with regret at her decision. Once he’d calmed down, though, he couldn’t be upset with her. It was, after all, the sort of dirty, underhanded move he needed to be prepared for. It was exactly the kind of thing Teave would do, if force failed.

He’s marginally better at withstanding that particular maneuver, but it still unhinges him long enough for one of them to overpower him. He needs to do better. He needs to be stronger. More focused. They’re depending on him. Alex is depending on him.

“Fine,” Michael huffs.

He looks around at everyone. Max and Isobel are exhausted, sweating and panting as much as he is. They’re right, he realizes. He’s falling back into old habits, and he can’t let himself do that now. Not when they’re so close. So very, very close.

“I’m sorry,” He sighs. “I got carried away.”

Straightening out and catching his breath, Max claps him on the shoulder, “All good, man.”

They go through their usual routine of Kyle checking the three of them over for injury before he lets them out of his sight. Once he’s determined that they’re all unharmed, Liz takes a blood sample from each of them. Michael isn’t entirely sure what she’s working on, just that she recently came up with an idea that she thinks could enhance their abilities for a short time. An edge like that could mean the difference between life and death when they finally confront Teave again. The three of them head to the locker room to shower once Liz has her samples, then it’s time to close up the building and go home. They can start up again tomorrow.

The training is intense, and they’ve all agreed that the time afterwards needs to be spent recuperating. None of them are allowed to drive after, so Max and Isobel leave with Liz, while Michael hitches a ride from Kyle. Just a few years ago he’d have hated the very idea. Nowadays he finds he actually kind of likes the good doctor. Not that he’ll ever tell anyone that. Except maybe Alex, someday.

“You lasted longer today,” Kyle comments. “By four and half minutes.”

“Yeah?”

Kyle nods, “Yeah. And Liz thinks she’s close to a breakthrough. If her new concoction can enhance your powers—”

“I have to be able to _control_ the enhanced powers,” Michael points out.

“True,” Kyle agrees. “But you’re miles from where you used to be, Michael. And you’ve been training almost non-stop. As long as you keep it up, you’ll be able to stay in control.”

“Let’s see if Liz’s formula works first,” Michael replies. He thinks about it for a moment, about how much the two of them have accomplished together, then asks, “Think I oughta offer her help with it?”

“I’m sure she’d be grateful to have a hand,” Kyle says. “Might be good for you to take some time to focus on something else for a little while. Like, emotionally. And it could be good for your training, too; lab work requires precision, not force.”

Michael snickers, “So you’re saying it’ll help if I do something _other_ than be a brute.”

Kyle shrugs, “Hey, you spent all that time stacking books and washing dishes and stuff to hone your fine motor telekinesis.”

“Fine motor telekinesis?”

“Well what would _you_ call it?” Kyle questions. “I’m just saying, the more _kinds_ of practice you get in, the better off you’ll be.”

Michael nods, “Not a bad idea.”

“This is gonna work, Michael. It is.”

“I know,” Michael agrees. “It has to.”

They don’t say anything else for a while. Just because they get along now, doesn’t mean they have to talk to each other. There isn’t much for them to say, really. They have work to do and they’ve put their differences aside to do it. They appreciate one another, they respect each other. That’s fine for now. They can be buddies when Alex is safe at home. He’ll probably be pleased to see it; he always did ask Michael to go a little easier on Kyle.

He mumbles his usual thanks when they reach Alex’s cabin. Almost three years since he moved here and he’s still not used to its emptiness. Usually he still sleeps in his Airstream, unable to stand being in Alex’s home without Alex actually being there. Though Isobel has insisted on some redecorating, he’s done everything he can to keep the place the way Alex left it. Most of the time he only goes inside to maintain the place, make sure everything is still clean and in working order. Or, sometimes, to use Alex’s kitchen. On rare occasion, he finds himself missing Alex so much he actually brings himself to sleep in his bed. He always showers first, using the same kind of soap and shampoo Alex used, and when the sheets need washing, he always makes sure to use the same detergent Alex did. Though Alex’s scent has naturally faded over time, Michael will do everything he can to keep some semblance of it lingering in the sheets.

“What do you think he’s doing right now?” Kyle asks as Michael reaches for the car door.

Michael sighs, “I don’t know that I want to know.”

“I keep,” Kyle pauses, swallows the lump in his throat, “I keep wondering about the other people on your planet. Is everyone around Alex like Teave? Or is there anyone with him that’s like you guys and your moms and the other refugees?”

“I don’t know,” Michael admits. “I hope so. I hope everyone there fucking _loves_ him. Like, fucking …Belle at Beast’s castle or some shit.”

Kyle snickers, “That _was_ his favorite growing up. Maybe he’s hanging out with a talking teapot and a candelabra.”

“Yeah,” Michael snorts, “maybe. Better than any of the alternative scenarios.”

“Do you …remember anything?” Kyle asks. “About life on Antar?”

“I’ve had a few things come back in bits and pieces since I found that message from my mom,” Michael replies. “Not much, mostly flashes of stuff with Max and Isobel. Like, us running around in this giant maze or playing by some kinda …crystal forest thing. And a beach, with black sand and a purple ocean. Sometimes I see a …blue tree.”

“Sounds nice,” Kyle comments.

“It is,” Michael agrees, “but I don’t even know if it’s all real or a dream. I _think_ it’s real, but even if it is, that doesn’t mean Alex is anywhere near those places.”

“Maybe he is,” Kyle hopes.

“Maybe. Anyway, thanks again for the ride. See you tomorrow.”

“Night,” Kyle says.

Michael gets out of the car without another word. He goes into the cabin tonight, microwaves a leftover slice of pizza for himself. It’s almost midnight and they’d already eaten a good dinner before their training session, but he’s worn out and hungry nonetheless. He eats quietly at Alex’s kitchen table and wonders how many times Alex had done the very same. Eaten his meals at this very table, quiet and alone. Convinced that’s how it would always be. Believing on some level that that’s exactly what he deserved. Michael had felt those pains himself for years, and soothed them with alcohol, acetone, and whoever would give him their company for the evening. Or a good barroom brawl that would land him on the curb or a jail cell. Anything to keep him from having to actually _feel._

Alex was always different. His self-destruction subtler, and in some way more insidious. Hidden away, buried deep inside of himself where no one would notice it. Not even Michael. Then again, Michael hadn’t been _looking_ for it, even when Alex was trying so hard to help Michael with his own suffering. It’s another thought that plagues him; if he’d bothered to _see_ Alex’s pain, could he have eased it? If he’d found the courage to open himself to Alex’s help—to Max’s, to Isobel’s, to _anyone’s_ —could he have put himself on a better path sooner? One that would have allowed him to help Alex in return? Been strong and brave for him in the times when he needed to be weak and scared? Give him that family he never had? The one that Michael, for all his years of denial, actually did?

He’ll never know now. Whatever he _could_ have done for Alex is in the past. He can only move forward and try to be the person he should have been then, now. At least that’s what his therapist tells him. He only sees Dr. Stacies once a month now, though for a while—starting shortly after he’d finally dropped his cynical, defeatist attitude—he had sessions with her twice a week. Like everyone else, she thinks Alex is dead. Has been trying to counsel Michael through his grief. Teaching him to recognize his own toxic, sometimes borderline abusive behaviors, and change them. Helped him see the difference between the times Alex was genuinely at fault and the ones where Michael’s own perception twisted things to make Alex seem like the villain. 

The more he thinks about it, the more of their issues seem to fall into the latter category. He’s started to see that Alex saying things like “you’re wasting your life” weren’t meant to make him feel like a failure or put down his work; they were an attempt to get him to stop self-destructing. He’s learning now to put aside his pride and _listen_ to what people are saying. And to ask them to clarify, if he needs them to. Most importantly, she’s taught him how to stop beating himself up for those times. To let go of past Michael and let himself grow into a better, healthier person. He can’t quite forgive himself—not completely—until he’s earned Alex’s forgiveness. But he’s learned to stop dwelling on those mistakes; he can’t fix them right now, but he can learn from them. And he’s going to.

***

The rain is everywhere. His constant companion as he walks along the muddy path. It’s lined by trees, a thick forest of green surrounding him. Ahead and behind he can see only the path. Mud beneath his feet, a dark gray sky overhead. The forest is unfamiliar, nowhere near Roswell. He’s certain he’s never been here before. Nothing but the sounds of the rain, wind and thunder can reach him through the curtain of trees. He doesn’t mind. It’s peaceful, in its own way. He walks along calmly, seeing clearly despite the storm. Even if he couldn’t see, his feet seem to know exactly where they’re going. Where he’s meant to be.

Somehow, Michael knows exactly when it’s time to step off the path. He slips easily between the trees as he enters the forest. The rain follows, piercing easily through the canopy of treetops above him. He moves steadily forward, the trees and shrubs allowing him to pass without any trouble. They want him here. He’s _supposed_ to be here. Even the rain isn’t really trying to deter him. It can’t help but fall from the sky and kiss the land with its tender love. Michael understands. He really does. He and the rain have always understood each other.

He pushes forward, even when the forest becomes a swamp. Shallow at first, but growing deeper and deeper the further in he gets. Still, the water doesn’t slow him, not even when it reaches up to his chest. It should be cold and unpleasant to move through, but instead it welcomes him like a dear friend. It’s an obstacle only in appearance, the water offering no resistance as he carries on, navigating through the trees emerging from it. It doesn’t _want_ to resist. It too wants him here.

His steady pace unwavering, the swamp soon fades away, becoming shallower until it’s little more than a puddle beneath his feet. He bids it farewell and continues uphill through the forest. Even that is simple, easy. It won’t be long before he reaches his destination. He’s close now to where he needs to be. He can feel it. He just needs to keep moving.

His resolve is soon rewarded. When he reaches the top of the hill, the blue tree comes into view. It’s a spectacular sight, it’s branches reaching out welcomingly. The petals of each blue flower catch the raindrops as they fall, cradling them delicately and keeping the ground beneath from saturating. The tree is almost ethereal in its beauty; it doesn’t belong here, on this hilltop overlooking the forest. It belongs somewhere else, somewhere very far from here. But right now, it _is_ here, and here is where Michael needs to be.

As his eyes travel downward to the base of the tree, he grins. Alex sits serenely beneath, a look of contentment on his face as he watches the rain fall peacefully around him. Michael approaches, warmth filling him with every step closer. A special kind of warmth that only exists when he and Alex are together.

Now sheltered by the tree, he removes his hat, pressing it lightly against his chest—a model of a proper gentleman—as he asks, “Mind if I join you?”

Holding out one arm in welcome, Alex smiles up at him without a word. Michael takes the invitation and sits at his side, resting his head against Alex’s shoulder as Alex wraps his arm around him. They fit together seamlessly. Pieces that want to be together. 

“Took you long enough,” Alex comments.

“Sorry, darlin’, it was a long way.”

“You’re here now,” Alex says. “That’s all that matters.”

Michael lifts his head and kisses Alex’s temple, “I’ve missed you.”

Alex hums softly, leaning into Michael’s kiss, “I’ve missed you, too.”

It’s true. They have missed each other. They’ve missed each other endlessly. Michael isn’t sure why, though. It didn’t really take him all _that_ long to get here. True, he can’t actually remember the last time they were together before he arrived here, but does that really matter? What matters, like Alex said, is that they’re here now. Together now. And as long as they’re together, nothing can possibly be wrong.

“You look tired, Michael,” Alex remarks, one hand cradling Michael’s face.

“I am,” Michael sighs. He is. He doesn’t know why, but he is.

Alex smiles understandingly, “Then rest.”

Michael lays down, curled on his side with his head in Alex’s lap. A content sigh escaping him, he closes his eyes. Nuzzles his face against Alex’s thigh. He can hear Alex laugh softly at him before he starts to run his fingers through Michael’s curls in return. It brings a smile to Michael’s face in a way that only Alex’s touch can. It’s been far too long since he’s felt it. But then, any amount of time is too long for him to go without Alex’s touch. It’s wrong for the two of them to be parted. Anyone who would even try must truly be a monster, he thinks.

He opens his eyes and gazes out at the endless stretch of ocean in front of them. The purple water is shining brightly, sparkling in the moonlight. Three moons—gold, silver and red—shine above their heads, full and luminous. The stars seem to smile down at them as they decorate the black sky above. The black sand beneath them is soft as silk, and Michael has the strangest urge to build a castle in it. He feels as though he’s done so before. Feels as though he’s swum in this very ocean; odd, given that he never actually learned to swim. The waves fill the air with a tranquil sound as they ease back and forth between shore and sea. A gentle breeze adds its own delicate melody to the mix. Between the soothing noise and the feel of Alex’s fingers in his hair, he’s almost lulled to sleep.

Another sound joins the waves and the wind. It’s soft and rhythmic, different from the sounds of the shore but every bit as calming. It takes a minute for Michael to realize what it is. Humming. Alex is humming. Michael could listen to him all day. He can’t remember the last time he saw Alex so relaxed. A decade, at least, he thinks. He tilts his head up to get a better look at Alex’s face, never wanting this moment to end.

Alex smiles down at him, “What?”

“Nothing,” Michael says with a slight shake of his head, “I just love looking at you.”

Gesturing in front of them, Alex laughs, “We have this whole view, all to ourselves, and you’re looking at _me?_ ”

Michael grins, “Yup.”

“You are a dork, Michael,” Alex snickers, rolling his eyes.

“So are you, darlin’,” Michael replies. “That’s why I love you.”

Alex’s face falls, and Michael’s heart along with it. He shouldn’t have said that. There’s no truth greater than Michael’s love for Alex. But that phrase is not one he should say. They’re the only words he wants to say to Alex, but also the last words Alex is ready to hear from him. The only words that have the power to truly hurt him right now.

“Alex,” he sits up quickly, reaches out to take hold of his face. “Alex, I—”

“This isn’t real,” Alex breathes, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Michael tries to grab him. Tries to pull him into his arms and assure him it’s real. They’re really here together, just the two of them. It’s too late, though. The illusion is shattered. Alex is right, this isn’t real. It’s just a fantasy. A dream. And even in his happiest dream, Michael can’t convince Alex that his feelings are real. That he’s loved and cherished, that Michael would do anything to bring him home. That he’ll protect him this time, keep him safe. 

“You don’t love me, Michael,” Alex’ whispers, an echo of their last moment together. That final instant of agony before Alex was stolen away. “You don’t love me. It’s not real. It’s not real …”

“Alex, please—”

“This is all my fault. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Again Michael tries to make Alex see the truth. But the words are garbled as they leave his mouth and Alex is turning to dust in his hands. Fading away. Because Michael can’t save Alex, even in his dreams.

He bolts upright and nearly falls from his bed. He’s in his Airstream, alone. There’s no forest, no ocean, no rain, no tree. No Alex. Michael buries his face in his hands and groans in misery, tears burning in his eyes. Though they don’t happen every night, they’re always the same, those dreams. Perfect moments with Alex, spoiled by those three words. Sometimes, he thinks, if he could just keep himself from uttering them, he could stay in the dream a little longer. But they always spill out of him, and they always ruin everything. Always remind Michael of how different things could have been if he’d only said them sooner.

***

“Do you think this is fucked up?” Michael asks, sitting on the bed of his truck.

Next to him, Rosa rolls her eyes and asks in return, “Do I think _what_ is fucked up?”

He nods behind them at the equipment they’ve brought with them, “This. Teave was obsessed with taking pictures of Alex, and of all the hobbies I could’ve found over the years, I pick photography.”

“I don’t think it’s really the same thing,” Rosa replies. “You like coming out here and photographing the desert. You wanna capture _moments_ and _memories._ That’s nothing like the pictures Teave took of Alex.”

“I guess so.”

It’s been months since he and Rosa started doing this together. At first it was just a favor, him taking her out and helping her with her equipment for a photography class she was taking. Then she started showing him how things worked and teased him into trying it himself. He was amazed at how much he enjoyed it. Enough that his mandated day off every week is usually spent out practicing his new interest. Even so, he can’t help but wonder if there’s something perverted about it, having a hobby so similar to his brother’s disturbing obsession.

“Besides,” Rosa goes on, playfully punching him in the arm, “it works for us!”

“How?”

“Well, you have an excuse to be out in the desert now,” Rosa explains. “If people know that you come out here for some amatuer photography, they’re not gonna question it so much when you _happen_ to find our missing Airman out here someday.”

Michael considers this. They’ve only loosely discussed the cover story they’ll be using to explain Alex’s return when they get him home. What they do have so far consists of “finding” him out in the desert, though they’ve yet to go much further than that.

“Huh. I never even thought of that,” He admits. “That’s really good.”

She grins, “Thank you, I am a genius.”

“But no one knows I do this. If I go around town like ‘hey I take pictures in the desert now’ it’s gonna look suspicious,” Michael points out.

“True,” Rosa agrees. “That’s why you’re gonna convince Sanders to put one or two up on display in his office. People’ll walk in to pay for their repairs and be like ‘oh what lovely photos’ and he’ll be all ‘yeah, my mechanic thinks he’s an artist now.’ Also I’m gonna get my dad to put one up at the Crashdown and Maria to put some up at the Pony.”

It’s not a bad idea, he thinks. It shouldn’t be hard to get Sanders to display his photographs. And he probably would pretend to make fun of Michael’s work to any customers who mention it, while in reality praising it. It fits with the new image Michael has created for himself, too. He’s gone from a young man with a promising future, to the town drunk who threw away a promising future, to an inspirational story about pulling himself up and fixing his life. People like him, now. As it turns out, putting himself and his skills out there instead of assuming everyone is judging and hating him, is a good way to build a strong reputation in the community. There are still those who treat him like the troublemaker he used to be, of course. People just waiting for him to fall back into old habits again. But he’s not concerned about them anymore. There’s just no point in trying to impress people who want to watch others fail.

“And then you can go to the bar one night, notice your pictures up and be all ‘oh Maria take those down’ and she’ll be like ‘no Michael, I love them and am proud of you!’ It’ll be great,” Rosa says, imitating Michael and Maria’s voices.

“You’ve put a lot of thought into this,” Michael comments.

“I have, thank you for noticing.”

“How’d you come up with it?” Michael asks.

Rosa shrugs, “WWAD. What Would Alex Do?”

“You think Alex would use my new hobby to explain how we’re gonna eventually find him out in the desert?”

“He’d take something true and then create lies that fit into said truth.”

“Yeah,” Michael nods, “you’re right. That is what Alex would do. He’ll be proud of you for this one.”

“Well, you know, great minds and all.”

Michael laughs. Spending time with Rosa always lightens his mood. He’s worked hard to earn her forgiveness and trust over the last three years. He’s been there for her, whenever and whatever she’s needed, determined to give her the life she deserves. Whether that's been driving her around when she needs a lift, sitting quietly when she's needed someone to scream at, being a shoulder to cry on, giving her a safe place to go when she's relapsed, or anything else, he's done it. Eventually, they reached a level of trust strong enough to confront his role in her family's suffering. It’s been rough, reopening old wounds and revisiting the sins of his past. But the reward has been better than he’d ever imagined; with every step forward he helps Rosa take, he feels freer, another weight lifting from his soul.

It’s strange, he never thought he’d feel such serenity with anyone but Alex. It’s not the same feeling, not by a longshot, but it’s pleasant in its own way. Rosa understands him in a way no one else in the group can. She knows exactly what it’s like to feel like the family disappointment. To self-destruct in the hopes that it’ll somehow make up for perceived shortcomings. They’ve both had to learn how to stop letting that feeling define them. 

“You about ready to head home?” Rosa asks.

Michael sighs, “Yeah, I guess. You want dinner?”

Rosa smirks, “You buying?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m buying. Wings?” Michael asks.

“Oh, good idea,” Rosa replies, hopping down from the truck bed and making her way to the front. “Let’s go, slowpoke!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Michael mutters, following after her.

Rosa fills the silence between them as they drive back to town. She updates him on her classmates and the projects she’s been assigned. Most of her studies are in painting and drawing, though she’s added a few other mediums—like photography—to the mix. Variety is the spice of life, she says every time she tries something new. And whether it’s simply kindness or her way of showing she forgives him, Rosa’s made a point of dragging him into her every new exploit. 

First she made him come to yoga with her every week, until he started getting uncomfortable having half the women there hit on him at each lesson and Isobel and Maria joined her in his place. Then it was morning jogs, which lasted a week and a half before they both decided being up and active that early every morning just wasn’t happening—without the promise of a paycheck at least. After that it was a semester long cooking class; Michael wasn’t actually that bad of a cook to start with, but now he’s no longer limited to a small handful of recipes. He’s still not entirely sure how Rosa convinced him to go with her to a Gender and Sexuality Studies course last summer, but it taught him quite a lot more—about himself even—than he’d imagined it would. 

She even invites him to her SMART Recovery meetings every week, AA’s methods having proven unhelpful for them both. At first he'd been afraid that they would reject him when he told them he doesn't feel like he needs to stop drinking altogether, just less. But he'd been assured that recovery takes many forms—abstinence for some and moderation for others—and he needs to do whatever works best for him. He doesn’t always join Rosa at the meetings, but he does sit in on them from time to time to remind himself how far from alone he really is.

***

Building a snowman should be easy. All it takes is rolling up a tight ball of snow, then stacking a pair of smaller ones on top of it. Add in a few extra accessories for the face, and it’s done. Children do it all the time. It’s really, very simple. But Michael’s never actually built a snowman before and he can’t seem to get it right. No matter what he does, it just keeps toppling over and he has to begin again. And Alex is no help, sitting on the bench on his front porch and laughing at him every time his snowman falls.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles at Michael’s sour face. “It’s just funny. You can repair an engine in your sleep. You can build a spaceship. You’re literally a genius. But you can’t build a _snowman._ ”

“I don’t see _you_ doing any better!” Michael retorts.

_“I’m_ not the one who said I could,” Alex reminds him.

“But you challenged _me_ to!” Michael exclaims, hands on his hips as he glares at Alex.

“I did not!” Alex insists. “All I said was this is perfect weather for one.”

“You were provoking me and you know it,” Michael accuses.

Alex laughs, “Provoking you? Into building a snowman?”

Michael wags his finger at him, “You practically started _singing.”_

“Singing? Singing wh—oh my God, Michael, _really?_ ” Alex huffs and rolls his eyes. He leans down and picks up a handful of snow, then chucks it at Michael, “I don’t even _like_ that movie.”

Though he _could_ block the snowball with his powers, Michael lets it hit him in the chest. He tosses one back at Alex and laughs, “Yes you do!”

Ducking out of the way, Alex says, “I don’t. It’s boring and overrated and I hate the stupid _trolls._ ”

As he reaches down to grab more snow, something wraps around his body and pulls him gently from the bench. He rolls his eyes, trying to hide his amusement as Michael levitates him closer. 

Once Alex is within arm’s reach, Michael asks, “Do you wanna build a snowman?”

Alex crosses his arms, “No. Now put me down.”

“Just admit Frozen isn’t boring,” Michael says, levitating a pile of snow over Alex’s head, “and you walk away unharmed.”

“Threaten me all you want,” Alex replies, “but I will not sell out my beliefs.”

“So brave,” Michael remarks. “It will do you no good here.”

Alex holds his head up high, “If I go out, I go out with my dignity intact.”

“Last chance.”

“Then drop the snow, Guerin,” Alex challenges. “I don’t have all day.”

Michael reaches out and wraps his arms around Alex’s waist to pull him against his chest. He presses their lips together and lets the snow fall over the both of them. He releases his psychic hold on Alex, who wraps his arms around Michael’s neck and they laugh into their kiss.

“You are so dumb,” Alex teases.

“You love it,” Michael replies.

“Yeah,” Alex says, “I do.”

“So,” Michael says, taking a step back and gesturing to the hapless pile of snow behind him, “gonna help me with this thing or what?”

Alex laughs, “You’re _still_ on that?”

Michael shrugs, “I’ve never done it before! I wanna try it!”

“I’ve never done it either,” Alex admits. “Snowmen weren’t exactly a Manes family activity.”

“Not even when your mom was around?” Michael asks.

Alex shakes his head, “No. The best she could do was get my dad to let us have snowball fights. And forget snow angels; I tried once when I was like five and he made me kneel on rice all afternoon.”

“Oh,” Michael shifts uncomfortably, feeling guilty for bringing up such unpleasant memories. They’ve been having a wonderful day, playing in the snow—at least, Michael’s been playing while Alex teases him from the porch—and now it might be ruined. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Alex replies. A smile that’s only half forced forms on his face, _“But,_ my dad _did_ teach us to make a mean snow cave.”

“Alex, we are literally four feet from your house,” Michael comments.

Alex shrugs, “That’s the best I got, Mikey, take it or leave it.”

“Oh, no,” Michael whines, “don’t _you_ start in with the ‘Mikey’ thing too! Liz was bad enough, now Rosa’s doing it! Not you too, no!”

“Tell you what, _Mikey,_ ” Alex offers, closing the gap between them. “You take me inside and warm me up, and I’ll never call you that again.”

Doable, Michael thinks. And reasonable. Alex _does_ look cold right now. He’s doing his best to hide his shivering, but Michael can see it nonetheless. His cheeks and the end of his nose are red. The frilly gold hoop through his septum looks like it might freeze into his skin if they don’t get out of the snow soon.

“Deal,” Michael whispers, looping his arms under Alex’s and around his back.

He seals the deal with a kiss as he lifts Alex up, smirking at the way he gasps—it always catches him by surprise—and wraps his legs around Michael’s waist to keep balanced. He carries Alex into the cabin and begins peeling off their clothes the moment they’re in the door. Lips locked together, he gently lays Alex down on the floor—unconcerned with how or when the feather-soft white and gold carpet got into the cabin—and finishes removing their clothing.

“Like what you see?” Alex asks, smirking at the way Michael can’t take his eyes off of him.

“You know I do,” Michael replies. “I’ve got the best damn view in the world right now.”

Alex blushes in a way only Michael gets to see, and says, “Second best.”

“Let’s not argue, darlin’, we’ll call it a tie.”

Alex doesn’t just laugh at that, he actually _giggles_ at it, and any trace of the cold lingering on their skin is chased away by the sound. Michael’s taken back to that first night so long ago, to the innocence of their youth. But then, cliche though it may be, every time with Alex feels like the first time. When they were so carefree and everything was easy. When they had the entire future out in front of them. They do again, he realizes. They’re together now and nothing can hurt them anymore. No one can keep them apart.

He takes his time, worshipping every inch of Alex as he deserves. Strange, he thinks, that they’ve been together so long and yet he’s never noticed how many piercings Alex actually has. The gold hoops with little pearls and diamonds in his nipples and the diamond encrusted gold heart in his navel. They’re an odd choice considering Alex’s usual tastes, but Michael decides he can ask him about them later. He has far more important matters to focus on right now. He has a job to do and he intends to do it well. 

“All these years,” Alex pants as they lay in the afterglow, “and you still find new ways to drive me crazy.”

“That good or bad?” Michael asks.

“Good,” Alex sighs, “definitely good.”

“Well,” Michael smirks, “it’s my pleasure to pleasure you.”

“Oh God,” Alex groans. He flicks Michael on the forehead, “You loser.”

“You love me,” Michael insists, resting his head on Alex’s chest.

“Yes, yes I do.” Alex says, running his fingers along Michael’s neck.

Michael almost says it back. But this time, he catches himself. It’s not time for him to say those words. Not yet. Not unless he wants to scare Alex away, which he certainly does not. Instead, he hums softly and leans into Alex’s touch. It’s always been so rare that they get to have these tender moments and he’s going to savor every second of it. 

“We could get into trouble for this, you know,” Alex remarks, not bothering to keep the amusement from his voice.

They could. Michael doesn’t know why or with whom, but they’d be in trouble if anyone caught them here. Where here is, he doesn’t know either. It’s certainly not Alex’s cabin. Not this strange room with its icy gray walls and ostentatious furnishings. Or the elegant chandelier overhead, a spiral of diamonds cascading downward towards them. No, Michael has no idea where or what this room is at all. But he does know that Alex is right. They’re not supposed to be in here. And they’re definitely not supposed to be making love here. If they’re caught, heads will roll.

He snickers, “Yeah. _So much_ trouble. I don’t care.”

“Me neither,” Alex admits. “In fact, I hope we do. I’m so damn tired of following the rules.”

“Oh my,” Michael teases, leaning up on his elbow to look down at him, “who is this _rebel_ and what has he done with my Alex?”

“Hey,” Alex protests, “I could be a rebel again.”

“Goth punk _was_ a hell of a look on you,” Michael comments.

Alex laughs, then—to Michael’s surprise—starts to sing, “Don’t look, don’t look, the shadows breathe.” 

“What?”

“Whispering me away from you.”

“Is that My Chemical Romance?”

“Don’t wake at night to watch her sleep,” Alex goes on, grinning at Michael’s confusion.

“Avenged Sevenfold.”

“You know that you will always lose.”

“It’s definitely not Fallout Boy.”

“This trembling, adored,” Alex reaches up and cups Michael’s face, “tousled, bird mad girl.”

“Good Charlotte, that’s my final guess.”

“It’s The Cure, Michael,” Alex finally answers. “The Cure.”

“Oh. I wouldn’t have guessed that,” Michael says.

Alex laughs, “No kidding.”

“Well how am I supposed to know you like The Cure? I’m not a mind reader,” Michael points out.

“True. You can’t read minds,” Alex agrees. His lips curve into a teasing smirk, “Or build a snowman.”

“Hey!” Michael chuckles. “You are just _asking_ for trouble now.”

“Oh yeah?” Alex teases. “What’re you gonna do?”

“Well for one thing, I’m gonna learn how to build a damn snowman,” Michael replies. He stands and drags Alex up with him, earning a soft whine of protest in return.

“No,” Alex whines. He lets his foot drag on the floor instead of supporting his own weight, a playful attempt to make things harder as Michael tries to carry him out of the room. “It’s _cold_ out there.”

“I am building a snowman,” Michael says, “and you’re gonna watch me.”

“We’re not even dressed!” Alex exclaims.

“Yes we are,” Michael counters.

He doesn’t know when they put their clothes back on, but they are indeed fully dressed again. Even Alex’s prosthetic is back on him. How that happened isn’t important, though. What’s important is that Michael proves once and for all that he can, in fact, build a snowman.

“I was just kidding, Michael,” Alex insists. “I know you can build a snowman, I don’t need to see it.”

“Nope, you made your bed, baby. Snowman time.”

“You’re so _mean,_ ” Alex pouts.

“Oh, that damn _face,”_ Michael moans, clutching his chest. “Alright, alright, you win. We’ll just sit inside and _cuddle_ or something.”

Alex grins, “I’m sure I can make it worth your while.”

“Saucy little minx,” Michael mutters. He wraps his arms around Alex again, “I fucking love you.”

Michael’s eyes slide closed and he exhales deeply the instant the words leave his mouth. He hadn’t meant to say it. He really hadn’t. But now he has, and he can’t do anything to take them back. Not that he _wants_ to take them back, but he’s long since learned what happens when he says them. He knows what happens next. And no matter how many times he goes through it, the pain never fails to slice through his entire being.

“Oh, God,” Alex whispers, horrified, “what have I done?”

Futile though he knows it is, Michael hugs Alex tight against him, “Nothing, darlin’. You haven’t done anything wrong, I’m telling you the truth.”

“I’m sorry,” Alex sobs, his body growing cold in Michael’s arms. “I’m so sorry.”

“No,” Michael begs, “Alex, please. Stay with me, baby, let me show you it’s real.”

He can’t. It’s already too late, he knows that. Alex is fading away, his flesh turning to snow and dissolving through Michael’s fingers. And Michael can’t do anything to stop it. He wakes, cold and alone in the Airstream, and wonders when he’ll ever stop repeating the past.

***

As certain as he was that he never would, Michael’s gotten pretty used to receiving phone calls from Flint over the years. So he’s only mildly suspicious when Flint calls him late one night and asks Michael to meet him at his father’s house. Alone. He doesn’t say anything about whether or not Michael can tell Max or Isobel—or anyone—where he’s going or who he’s meeting, though, so Michael sends both his siblings a text letting them know exactly what he’s doing. He actually kind of likes Flint nowadays, but better safe than sorry, right? He thinks that’s what Alex would say.

Michae’s never actually been inside the Manes house before. His experience here is limited to sneaking into the backyard and peeking through the windows from afar to make sure the Master Sergeant wasn’t around. He’d often fantasized that if he ever did step through the front door, it’d be hand in hand with Alex, declaring their engagement and relishing the look that would surely cross his father’s face. Ringing the bell and having Flint welcome him into an otherwise empty house wasn’t part of that fantasy.

“So, uh, mind telling me what’s going on?” He asks, glancing around uncomfortably. He knows Jesse isn’t home at the moment—unless of course Flint has been pulling a really long, really convoluted con on them—but he can’t help that old fear creeping up on him. He can still hear the shed door open. His left hand twitches slightly. “Why exactly am I here at one in the morning?”

Flint somehow looks more relaxed and yet more tense than Michael’s ever seen him, both at the same time. He shrugs and sighs, “I just got in and by morning it’ll be all over town, but I thought you’d wanna be the first to know. Like, _you_ specifically. My dad’s on the run.”

Michael holds his breath, not daring to hope he’s heard correctly, “What?”

“Project Shepherd’s been exposed. All the evidence that they were right about aliens being real is gone, so as of now it looks like they kidnapped dozens of human beings for no reason, gave no reports to any higher offices, then murdered them all.”

“How?”

Flint huffs a half-hearted laugh, “Fucking Alex. He planted a virus, I don’t know when. Maybe back when he first got access to the bunker here in Roswell. Probably loaded it into every Project Shepherd computer he ever accessed. My guess is he intended it to be a failsafe, in case something happened to him; programmed to activate after a certain amount of time with no input from him. It ate everything.”

“No one noticed it?”

“The project was officially shut down years ago, so there really weren’t that many people on it anymore. When I left, a lot of others followed. Most of the ones who stayed were older; the don’t trust computers kind. And the virus worked slowly, so by the time anyone realized it was there, it was too late. All that’s left is some footage of helpless people being imprisoned and tortured by conspiracy nuts.”

“What about hard copies?” Michael asks. “There’s gotta be physical files, evidence that we exist. If the government gets those—”

“Taken care of,” Flint explains. “I told you, people were already abandoning ship. They were happy to help me get rid of everything; some because it’s right, and some to save their own asses. Even Greg and Clay joined in.”

“Are you serious?” Michael can’t believe it. He doesn’t know how involved the last two Manes brothers were with Project Shepherd, but their help is welcome all the same.

“They weren’t as deep in it as I was,” Flint admits, “but they knew what was going on. In general, anyway. But they think Alex is dead and they never got to make amends with him, after everything that happened when we were kids. I think they’re hoping taking dad down can make up for that.”

“Do they know about us?”

“As in you and Alex? Or you and the Evanses?”

“Um,” Michael shrugs, “both?”

“You and Alex, yes. You being an alien, no. Figured I shouldn’t be the one to tell them that.”

“Yeah,” Michael says, “let’s keep that one on the down low. At least until we get Alex home. So, what happens next?”

“Well, dad’s a fugitive and his former men are all singing. They’re all doing anything they can to lessen their sentences. Dad’s just digging himself in deeper and deeper. It’s only a matter of time before they find him. And I, for one, cannot wait to watch him burn.”

Michael snickers, “This is the best news I’ve heard in years. But what about you?”

“Alex erased my files. And yours and everyone else’s. Made it look like Dad was obsessively watching the whole town instead of just specific people. You’ll be safe.”

“Goddamnit, Alex,” Michael sighs, “you’re not even on this planet and you’re still saving our asses.”

Flint nods, “That’s Alex for you. But I bet he’ll be thrilled to hear about all this.”

“Yeah, definitely. Just one more question, though,” Michael says. “Is there any particular reason you needed to tell me this _here?_ ”

“Yes,” Flint replies. He walks away, nodding his head for Michael to follow. “I need to show you something.”

Michael follows him into the basement, surprised to find something more like a file room than a person’s basement. They’re surrounded by shelves of binders and folders and boxes, all neatly organized. He’s not sure what to make of it. Are they Project Shepherd files? Is he supposed to help Flint destroy them? Or is Jesse Manes just exceedingly meticulous about his taxes?

“What the hell is all this?” He asks.

“My dad’s always been a big fan of blackmail and exploitation,” Flint states. “Anytime he thinks someone might be useful to him—or a threat—he digs up everything he can on them. And then he stores it in here.”

“So all this is …dirt he has to blackmail people with?”

Flint nods, “Mostly. He never throws any of it away, just in case. Which brings us to …”

Trailing off, Flint walks to the back of the room and shows Michael to a shelf in the corner. It doesn’t take long for him to understand why. Three binders and two large cardboard boxes sit innocently on the shelf, all labeled simply, _Alex._ Michael and Flint share a look, and Flint gestures for Michael to take the lead. There’s a part of Michael that doesn’t want to look. Doesn’t want to know what could be in there. Part of him wants to just burn all of this to the ground and never look back. The rest of him, though, knows he can’t walk away from this. He has to look. He has to know what Jesse thought he could use to control Alex. He has to make sure that no one else ever can.

The boxes are filled with mail. Letters to Alex from Liz and Maria, letters and postcards from Alex to them. Cards from both people he knows and others just looking to send them to the troops; Christmas cards, birthday cards, thank you cards. Birth announcements from three separate people Alex must have been friends with during his service. And get well gifts, so very many of them. Cards and letters. Tags that look to have been taken from bouquets, all wishing a speedy recovering. Long deflated balloons with well wishes printed on them. Crayon and marker drawings and letters that the students in Roswell Elementary school had been asked to make when news broke of Alex’s injury. The remnants of multiple care packages; both Isobel and Maria had separately collected them to send to him while he was hospitalized. An anthology of Edgar Allen Poe works from Liz. 

Michael isn’t sure what to make of it all, until he stops the single black rose buried at the bottom of the last box. It’s fake, and not even a particularly good one, with a plastic stem and fabric petals. Unbloomed. He’d spent ten solid days trying to figure what to put into the box Maria had set out for donations. How, after all, could he possibly convey his feelings for Alex with just a note or a gift? So when the day came that Maria announced she’d be sending the box in the morning and Michael still hadn’t written anything, he’d panicked. Panicked and bought a cheap fake rose from a dollar store. As though Alex would see it—wrapped in a glow in the dark, alien-themed ribbon from the museum—and somehow know it was from Michael. That it was his way of telling him how much he missed him. That he still loved him. When he never received any sort of response, Michael had assumed that Alex either didn’t make the connection that he was the one who sent it, or didn’t appreciate the pathetic gesture. Now, seeing it here along with dozens of letters addressed to him, Michael understands.

“He stole his mail,” he announces. “That son of a bitch stole Alex’s mail!”

“What?” Flint peers over Michael’s shoulder into the boxes. “Son of a bitch.”

“I don’t get it,” Michael says, “how did he think this would help him keep Alex under control?”

“Isolation,” Flint replies. “It’s much easier to control people who feel alone. Actually, this explains a lot. When I tried to talk Alex into breaking up with Teave right after Max came back, he said something about how at least Teave had _tried_ to write him while he was in the hospital and no one else did. I didn’t realize what he meant then, but this makes sense.”

Michael nods, “He thought no one wrote him because he never got any of the letters. All this time he thought …”

He sighs, not bothering to finish. He’d spent a decade certain Alex had left him behind, but as with so many of their troubles, that was thanks to Jesse’s interference. He looks at the stack of envelopes bearing his name and imagines how different things could be if only he’d received them. Even just one of them. Wonders how long it took for Alex—heartbroken from the lack of response—to give up and stop writing to him altogether. Michael has no doubt Teave used it to his advantage; he likely knew exactly why Alex was never able to get in contact with anyone. Hell, he’d probably done plenty of tampering of his own. Ironic, how Jesse’s manipulations just made Alex more vulnerable to the very threat he claimed to be fighting.

“How do you do something like this?” He asks. “How do you just …destroy someone’s entire life?”

Flint shakes his head, “By having no moral compass whatsoever. By assuming you’re right, no matter what you do. And deciding that certain people aren’t really …people.”

“Yeah,” Michael sighs, “I guess that’s how you’d do it.”

“Hey, maybe you shouldn’t look into the rest of this stuff,” Flint suggests. “I thought it’d be good for you, but if it’s just gonna—”

“No,” Michael interrupts. “I have to. I can’t explain it, but, I _need_ to know.”

Flint looks ready to argue, but instead he sighs and nods, stepping aside as Michael moves from the boxes to the binders. He’s not surprised to find his own picture in the first binder. His mugshots, his arrest records, tax records, work history, reports from social services. Newspaper clippings about the night he was found as a child. All the information Project Shepherd had obtained to prove his origin. Anything that could be used to harm Michael in any way is there, and he hates Jesse more than ever. He’s known for years that he’d been the leverage Jesse used to bend Alex to his will, but seeing it all here like this is unbearable. 

Michael isn’t the only person in the binder, though his section is by far the largest. There’s information about the Ortechos; more than enough to have Arturo deported and Liz and Rosa detained despite being natural citizens. A file on the DeLucas, detailing every possible instant—no matter how tiny—that the Wild Pony may have failed to adhere to health or fire code standards, all the times Mimi and then Maria broke written laws to better serve humanity. Altogether, it might not be enough to put Maria out of business, but it would certainly damage her. The Valenti file is nothing new; proof of Jim’s many affairs and his real relationship to Rosa. The revelation wouldn’t be outright damaging, but Michael knows that Alex—if cornered by it—would have done all he could to spare Kyle and his mother that humiliation. There’s Project Shepherd’s data on Max and Isobel, and even information about Jenna and her sister. It’s a thorough, almost guaranteed way to force Alex’s cooperation. And it’s only the start.

The second binder is more focused on Alex himself. Filled with files that most parents keep for emergencies—his birth certificate, medical records—or out of pride—his report cards dating all the way back to the first grade, various reports and homework assignments. His files from his time in the Air Force, plenty of which Michael suspects weren’t obtained legally. There are photographs; a handful of candid shots of Alex with other men. Nowhere near the quality _or_ quantity that Teave had taken of him, but each picture is attached to a file on whoever Alex is with in it. None of the men seem to have anything in their history that could be used against Alex, but the very idea that Alex’s father had gone so far as to even document his every hookup is more than disturbing. Teave, Michael notices, is conspicuously absent from the folder.

It’s the third binder that crushes Michael’s soul. At first, he’s not sure what he’s looking at. He knows exactly how much control he has over himself nowadays when he realizes what it is. Just a year ago he’d have brought the entire house down upon seeing it. Michael remembers Alex’s six week disappearance the summer before their junior year and how it had been explained away as him visiting his mother. Though he’d been disappointed that he wouldn’t get to see Alex even in passing that summer, he hadn’t questioned it. He hadn’t had any reason to. No one had. Clearly, he should have.

The patient intake form is dated July of two thousand six. The Courage Center for Troubled Teens. Michael’s heard of it; the place was shut down after New Mexico’s ban on conversion therapy took effect. And Alex spent six weeks there under the _care_ of Dr. Mackenzie Mella. Care that, according to the so-called doctor, included aversion techniques, hypnotherapy and forced medications, among others. At the end of the six weeks, Alex was transferred into their “outpatient program” until finally, at the behest of his mother, all “treatments” were ceased that October. 

“Did you know about this?” Michael asks, holding the file up for Flint to see.

Flint’s wince at the sight of it is all the answer Michael needs. But he still nods shamefully and admits, “Yes.”

“Why the hell didn’t you _do_ something about it?” Michael demands.

Flint sighs, accepting his share of blame, “You know why.”

“You just _let_ him …” 

Michael shakes his head, knowing there’s nothing he can say that can make Flint feel any worse than he already does. Nothing that can change any of what happened. Sure, he could’ve _tried_ getting help, but really, what chance did an eighteen year old kid have against Jesse Manes? 

“What about your mom?” He asks instead. “What the hell took her so long to stop it?”

“She didn’t know,” Flint replies. “She had no idea about anything that went on in this house once she left. Frankly, we were too scared to tell her about it. I don’t even know how she found out, but it was the only time she ever threatened to try and take our dad to court. She’d have lost, but I think he didn’t want to deal with it.”

Michael huffs, “Any chance we might be able to find your dad before the government does?”

“I think we’re better off focusing on getting Alex back.”

“We can multitask,” Michael grumbles.

Flint’s right, of course. Getting revenge on Jesse Manes might feel good in the moment, but it’s not going to fix anything. It’s not going to bring Alex home any faster. And right now bringing Alex home safely is Michael’s only priority. As many people as he’d like to destroy—Jesse, Teave, now Dr. Mella and anyone who worked with her—he’s not going to stray from his path. Not going to succumb to his rage and lose focus. He’s definitely going to have a lot to talk about at his next therapy session.

As much as he’d like to just tear the files apart, Michael forces himself to read them all the way through. From Dr. Mella’s determination that the “root” of Alex’s “condition” was his parents’ divorce to her declaration that he was “stable” enough for outpatient treatment. He reads through Alex’s medical report, the list of medications they put into him, the treatments they forced him to endure, the transcripts of his therapy sessions. He’s relieved when he finally reaches October and the intervention from Alex’s mother. The relief is short-lived, though, as he turns the page and finds a second intake form.

Tears cloud his eyes, soak into the paper as they fall. The second intake form is dated the day after the incident in the toolshed. This stay lasted a week, in the facility’s “expedited program,” as Dr. Mella calls it. Her notes are a knife through Michael’s heart as she declares _him_ the reason for Alex’s “relapse.” She delivers a twisted spin on what happened, trying to convince Alex that Michael had assaulted and raped him. Blames Michael for the extensive injuries Alex had to be treated for upon admission. Alex’s attempts to tell the truth are written off as delusions and denial. Even so, he’d tried to hold on, to resist. Until Dr. Mella suggested that taking legal action against Michael might be the best way to get Alex to “heal.” 

“She has to pay,” he announces. “This Dr. Mella, she has to pay for what she did to him. For all the kids she did this to.”

“She is,” Flint assures him.

“What? How do you know that?”

“I uh,” Flint shifts slightly, “I wasn’t gonna tell you just yet, but …Mella was part of Project Shepherd too.”

“I don’t remember seeing her name anywhere,” Michael says.

“That’s because she used an alias. Dr. Jane Holden.” 

Slamming the binder down on the floor is more than a little childish, but sometimes Michael just can’t help himself. As they’d dug deeper into Project Shepherd, they’d learned that the enigmatic Dr. Holden’s role went further than falsifying autopsies. She’d also spent almost twenty years psychoanalyzing and interrogating the prisoners at Caulfield.

“So,” He huffs, “the same freudian fake who tortured Alex also tortured my mom. Fucking figures.”

“Dad kept the circle small,” Flint replies. “People he could trust or control. The uh, ‘Courage Center’ helped keep the project funded.”

Michael sighs, “You know your life is fucked up when Romeo and Juliet had an easier romance.”

“Don’t go getting any ideas, Guerin,” Flint tries to force a laugh in hopes of lightening the mood just a little.

“Like I’d give your dad or my brother the satisfaction. I’d rather invite them to our fucking wedding just to see their faces.”

“Already planning the wedding, huh?”

Michael smirks, “I might be. I’m thinking destination, something halfway between Earth and Antar, you know, fair to everyone.”

This time Flint’s laugh is real, “You really are an idiot, Michael.”

Michael shrugs, “Sometimes.”

“You want a drink?” Flint asks. “I know you’ve been cutting down lately, but this uh, sorta feels like a drinking kinda night.”

Michael exhales a deep breath, “A-fucking-men to that.”

He gets drunker than he has in over a year. Not blackout drunk or pick-me-up-off-the-floor drunk or start-a-fight-with-anything-that-moves drunk, but drunk enough that despite everything, he actually has a fun time with Flint. Not just civil or even pleasant, but genuinely fun. He remembers there being laughing and crying. They go through every closet in the house, searching for anything else that could add to the target already on Jesse’s back. They take his Air Force portrait out of its frame and throw darts at it. They consider burning it—and other things that are probably sentimental to him—but decide that all four Manes boys deserve to be involved in that. At some point, Michael winds up in Alex’s childhood room, curled up under the blankets of his childhood bed. The walls still have his posters up and the closet still has the old clothing he never bothered to take to the cabin. There’s a box hidden under the bed with all of his old jewelry and journals in it. In the morning, Flint makes him a surprisingly good batch of pancakes and bacon.

“What’s that?” He asks as Michael sits at the table.

Michael holds out the necklace he’d found in the hidden box, “It was Alex’s. I found it under his bed.”

Flint takes the handcuff choker and looks it over, “Yeah, I remember this.”

“It was his favorite,” Michael comments. “Or, at least, he wore it the most, so I assumed it was.”

“Probably,” Flint agrees, handing the necklace back. “You should hold onto it. For good luck.”

“Why exactly is it lucky?” Michael asks.

“I dunno,” Flint shrugs. “Why not?”

Michael laughs, but he keeps the necklace anyway. Hangs it on the rearview mirror of his truck when he finally heads home. He has to admit, it’s nice the way things are. He has a lot of good things in his life. A lot of people who care about him. His family—both the human and antaran halves—is closer than ever. He just hates that it cost them Alex to get there. Not for long, he reminds himself. He’s getting stronger every day. They’re close now, so very close, to bringing him home. Just a little longer and they’ll be whole at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The locations changing suddenly during Michael's dreams aren't continuity errors, they're just dream logic and thus are not supposed to make sense. The song Alex sings in the second dream is Burn by The Cure.
> 
> Information No One Asked For: I was originally going to have a lengthy confrontation with Jesse and the other two brothers (who I had named Roger and Jesse Jr.) but seeing clips of what a wonderful brother Greg is I decided to drop that. Quick question, I know the last brother's name is Clay but is he confirmed as Flint's twin or is that just a popular theory? And has their mom's name been given yet? If not I'm naming her Ada. 
> 
> Small PSA: I'm not trying to insult AA, they've helped thousands of people, but I don't think people like Michael and Rosa would benefit from their particular methods and I think people should know that there are alternatives. SMART Recovery is a real program, and if you or someone you know is struggling with an addiction and find that AA isn't helping, they might be the way to go.
> 
> Anyway, picture time!
> 
> Alex's piercings, in order: nose, nipple, navel:  
> 
> 
> Michael's rose:  
> 
> 
> And the ribbon he wrapped it in:  
> 


	20. this is halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fateful Halloween that began everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been three weeks since the last chapter, but I've been very busy preparing for a very important certification exam this coming Monday, so I really had to put this on the back burner. (and to be totally fair, I've waited _years_ for fics to update so a few weeks is nothing lol)
> 
> Today we have the moment that started it all! Be warned for minor violence, drug references, bullying, referenced child abuse and a brief appearance from Noah.

“What d’you think?” Michael asks, stepping into Max’s room.

“Holy shit, dude,” Max laughs. “Is that what you’ve been doing all this time?”

It takes all of Michael’s willpower not to run his hands through his hair and mess it up. It’s slicked back, almost perfectly straight and virtually unrecognizable. He’d spent well over an hour washing and styling it, conditioned it more than he’d ever had in his entire life. He’d shoplifted a bottle of detangling spray and used almost all of Isobel’s expensive hair gel, but he’s finally gotten the look he wants.

“Hey, Han Solo doesn’t have curly hair,” He comments, laughing along with Max.

“It looks good,” Max replies. “Girls are gonna be all over you tonight.”

Michael smirks, “That’s every night, man.”

Snatching the pillow from his bed, Max chucks it at him, “Ass. You ready to go?”

They’re in matching Return of the Jedi costumes for tonight’s party; Max as Luke Skywalker, Michael as Han Solo. They’d tried their hardest to convince Isobel to complete their look and go as Princess Leia, but she’d firmly refused, and gotten herself an angel costume instead. Michael doesn’t care. Since the tenth grade Morgan Myers has thrown perhaps the biggest Halloween party in town every year and Michael isn’t going to let the fact that Isobel’s no fun ruin the night. He’s not going to let the fact that it’s a school night ruin it either; half the teachers in school don’t expect most of the students—the seniors especially—to show up for class tomorrow anyway.

“Yeah, man, let’s get a move on,” He replies, tossing the pillow back at him. “It’s kinda pathetic that _Isobel_ left already and we haven’t.”

Max gets to his feet, “Hey, I’m not the one who spent an hour on his hair.”

“It’s not my fault I’ve got the devil’s curls,” Michael comments.

Max laughs again as they make their way out to Michael’s truck, “The what?”

Michael shrugs, “I dunno, that’s what they said at the group home.”

“Oh ...kay,” Max isn’t sure what to say to that.

Michael doesn’t expect him to know what to say, because it’s frankly a ridiculous concept. But humans do a lot of ridiculous things and Michael has stopped questioning most of them. It’s not important right now anyway. What’s important is getting to the damn party.

He’s not anxious to get there just because he knows Alex Manes will be there. The fact that Alex hadn’t been able to go the last two years because there’s no way in hell his uptight dad will let him out on a school night doesn’t make a difference to him. He doesn’t care that he’d overheard Liz Ortecho mention to Max today that Alex was coming tonight because his dad is going to be away until tomorrow. That fact has nothing to do with why he’d spent so much time making sure his damn hair actually looked good. Why he borrowed Mrs. Evans’ steam thing to get all the wrinkles out of his costume. Not at all. It’s entirely coincidental, all of it.

He parks a few blocks from Morgan’s house and they walk the rest of the way. Almost every kid in school is there, plus a good turnout of kids from other schools nearby. And a few college students who’d chosen schools close to home. Michael’s amazed that the cops are never called, but Morgan being close friends with Kyle Valenti might have something to do with that.

“Hey, Max!” Liz greets them not long after they arrive, moving through the crowd with Maria DeLuca and Alex close behind her. “Or, Luke. And Han. Happy Halloween!”

Max grins a little too widely in return, “Hi Liz. Oh, um, I mean, Morticia. Hermione. And, uh, Gene Simmons? No, goth Joker?”

“Eric Draven,” Alex replies as though it should be obvious.

“The Crow, dude,” Michael explains at Max’s lost expression, “it’s a classic.”

_“Thank you,”_ Alex says. “See, I told you guys.”

“I’m _sorry,_ I just don’t like horror movies,” Maria says honestly.

“It’s _not_ a horror movie,” Alex protests. “It’s a tragic romance revenge story. And, anyway, _Rosa_ likes it too, so that’s three votes. You both have to watch it with me now.”

Max looks between the other three, “Why’s that?”

“We have a system,” Liz explains. “If three of us agree something is a must-see, whoever’s left has to give it a try. But I don't think Michael really counts. No offense, Michael.”

“Um, excuse me,” Alex says before Michael can even _be_ offended, “did _you_ help blow up the Death Star? His vote counts.”

Michael snickers, “Thanks, Alex.”

He wants to say more. A lot more. He wants to get Alex alone so the two of them can talk. He wants to ask him if maybe the two of them could get together and watch The Crow. Or Star Wars. Or The Addams Family. Harry Potter. Any movie, really. Michael doesn’t care what, as long as he gets to watch it with Alex.

He doesn’t say anything, though. He just listens as Max talks to Liz and Maria, chimes in now and then with some filler. Alex is just as quiet, mostly sipping from the cup in his hand; he keeps looking at Liz. At Maria. At Max. Around the room. It could be his imagination, but it seems like he’s looking anywhere but at Michael. But maybe that’s because Michael can’t take his eyes off of him. Maybe he’s making him uncomfortable with his staring. He’s not _trying_ to stare, of course, but it’s hard not to.

Alex looks incredible tonight. Not that that’s unusual, but he pulls off his costume perfectly. It looks like he’d spent as much time on his face paint as Michael had on his hair; Alex is nothing if not dedicated. His hair is falling around his face in an ‘intentionally messy’ kind of way that Michael couldn’t master if he tried for a hundred years. Naturally it looks perfect on Alex. It’s not just his appearance, either. He almost seems more sure of himself, as though being in costume makes him just a bit more confident. Or maybe he just really likes Halloween. Michael can’t really tell for sure.

Eventually, the girls excuse themselves to use the bathroom and Alex turns to Max, “So I know something you might be interested in.”

Max laughs, “Okay, I’ll bite. What?”

“Liz,” Alex says slowly, drawing out his news, “just the other day—Sunday, in fact—dumped Kyle.”

Max’s effort to not look thrilled is valiant but ultimately in vain, “Really? Um, that, that’s a shame. She must be like, really upset. Is she okay?”

_“Max,”_ Michael groans, “are you fucking _kidding?”_

“What?” Max asks, clueless and innocent.

“If you don’t ask her out I swear to God,” Michael says.

“I’m not gonna do that!” Max insists. “It hasn’t even been a week; I’m not gonna take advantage of her while she’s still mourning!”

“She’s not mourning,” Alex assures him. “But knowing Kyle, he’s definitely gonna try and get her back some time tonight. If you don’t make your move now, he’ll succeed.”

Michael claps Max on the back, “Do it, man! You’re the one always talking about not wasting opportunities!”

“Guerin’s right,” Alex starts. He’s cut off when someone reaches out from behind him and swats at his hand from beneath, splashing his drink onto his face and down his shirt. He turns, furious, “The _fuck?_ ”

Kyle Valenti, covered with dirt and fake blood, laughs, “Aw, sorry, Alexa, did I ruin your makeup?”

“You’re not funny, Kyle,” Alex mutters.

“Where’s Liz?” Kyle asks, ignoring him.

“Off enjoying her freedom from _you,_ ” Alex remarks.

“Quit being a bitch, Manes. Where is she?”

“Hey, Kyle,” Michael interrupts, tired of this jackass putting Alex down all the time. “This is Halloween, you know.”

Kyle turns to him, confused, “Uh, yeah?”

“You’re supposed to wear a _costume,_ ” Michael says.

“This _is_ my costume,” Kyle replies. “I’m a zombie.”

Michael fakes a gasp, _“Oh!_ I’m sorry, dude, I just thought you spilled ketchup on yourself.”

While Alex and Max snicker, Kyle glares at him, “Very funny, Guerin. And what’re _you_ supposed to be?”

“He’s Han Solo, dipshit,” Alex cuts in. “You’d know that if you watched a decent movie now and again. Anyway Liz went home.”

“Bullshit, I just saw Rosa talking to Kate Long. I know damn well she’s your ride. Forget it, I’ll find her myself.”

As Kyle storms off, Alex grabs Max by the shoulders and shakes him, “I am _begging_ you, Max. Ask Liz out. I _know_ you like her. I’m _betting_ she likes you. _Please,_ I _cannot_ take another year of having Kyle Valenti hanging around us all the time.”

“I’ll ...think about it,” Max offers.

“Please do,” Alex says. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go dry off.”

He leaves them without another word and Michael begins to panic. If he doesn’t say something now he might not get another chance tonight. Once Alex is back with Liz and Maria, it’ll be almost impossible to get him alone again. And if Kyle convinces Liz to take him back, Alex will be in no mood for Michael to ask him out. He has to do it _now._

But he doesn’t. He watches Alex walk away and he doesn’t say a word to stop him. Just stands there, useless and kicking himself. Why didn’t he say anything? Why did he just let Alex leave? Michael could’ve gone with him. Could’ve offered him a hand. Could’ve done _anything._

It’s too late now. Alex is already gone and there’s nothing Michael can do now. So he slips away from Max, gets himself a drink and sneaks into Morgan’s bedroom to steal some of her nailpolish remover to lace it with. How else is he supposed to make himself feel better about his own stupidity?

He’s sitting in the yard on some fancy garden bench when he sees Alex next. It’s just for an instant—he’s walking back into the house with Maria with fresh drinks, laughing about something—but Michael’s almost certain their eyes meet. Michael sits up straighter and smiles at him with a slight nod, trying to invite him to come sit down. But either Alex doesn’t notice or isn’t interested, because he and Maria keep right on walking.

Michael sits by himself for another minute, thinking about leaving the party when he feels someone come up behind him. For one hopeful instant he thinks it might be Alex. Maybe he’d noticed and is interested after all. Maybe he just needed to excuse himself from Maria first; he’d never be so rude to his friend as to just dismiss her for some guy, naturally. But when he turns around, Alex isn’t there.

“Hey,” says the girl who is. She’s tall and pretty and muscular enough to give Chyna a run for her money. Dressed like Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas. She must have money, because it’s a damn good costume and her face paint is even more perfectly applied than Alex’s. “Mind if I join you?”

Michael, not wanting to be rude and in need of a distraction, shrugs, “Sure.”

The girl smiles and sits beside him, “I’m Poppy.”

“I, uh, thought you were Sally,” Michael says, forcing a laugh.

Poppy laughs, for real, “Well, yes, her too. Shall I call you Han, then?”

“Michael,” He replies. _“Just_ Michael. No nicknames, please.”

“I can respect that, _Michael.”_

Poppy says his name oddly. Like it amuses her. Or she could just be flirting. Or drunk, though she seems sober enough. She looks older than Michael by at least a few years, probably in college. Something about her doesn’t seem to fit in with the rest of the crowd, though. She’s poised in a way that makes Isobel look barbaric. Composed in a manner that makes Max look like a loose cannon. And she exudes a confidence Michael’s never seen in _anyone_ before. It’s unnerving, but he can’t seem to excuse himself from her.

They talk. Or rather, _he_ talks. Poppy only asks him questions. How old is he? What grade is he in? Is he looking to go to college? Where? What major? What does he do for fun? What’s his family like? Oh, foster care, that’s sad, what’s _that_ like? Does he have a girlfriend? A boyfriend? Michael answers every question without thinking. He can’t stop himself. It’s unnerving. His head starts to hurt after a while.

“What about that friend you were with?” Poppy asks. “The one in the Luke Skywalker costume?”

That seems to break Michael out of this strange cycle, “Um, what about him?”

“What’s he like?”

Michael shakes his head, “He’s boring. Nothing to say about him.”

Poppy grins as though she knows he’s lying, “Okay. Your cup is empty. Would you like another drink?”

“Oh, uh, yes. Please.” Michael replies.

If he’s quick enough, maybe he can slip out of here before she comes back. He just needs a second to collect himself. But for some reason, he can’t force himself to get up off the bench. He just sits there, and before he knows it he’s sipping his drink awkwardly and listening to her talk about some artist he’s never heard of. His head is really, really hurting now.

At some point Max comes by, having apparently given up his chance to ask Liz out as miserably as Michael had given up his chance with Alex. He asks Michael if he wants to leave. Michael _does_ want to leave. Wants to thank Max for his perfect timing. Wants to tell Max he _needs_ to get away from this girl. 

“Nah, man, not now. Can you get a ride with someone else?” He says instead. His head hurts.

“Um,” Max looks uncertain, like Michael talking to Poppy makes him uncomfortable, but nods, “I guess. Yeah. I’ll ask around.”

“Great, thanks.”

Max hesitates, eyeing Poppy suspiciously as he lingers, “You sure you’re okay?”

Michael glances at Poppy—who’s still smiling at him—then back at Max, _“Dude.”_

“Alright. See you later,” Max says, his tone indicating he wants to argue. He casts a backwards glance at Michael but for once respects his wishes.

Except Michael this time _wishes_ he wouldn’t. Something’s not quite right with him, but he’s not sure what. His head hurts. He doesn’t want to keep talking to Poppy. He wants to go home. Or, back to Max’s house anyway. The Evans may have abandoned him at the group home, but at least they never mind him sleeping over. Hell, he’ll take sleeping in his truck over carrying on this conversation. He wants to leave. He wants to be away from the crowd. Away from Poppy. She scares him.

His head hurts.

***

The night starts off fine. Great, actually. Alex has never disobeyed his father so flagrantly before. Part of him is terrified of being caught, but mostly he just feels alive. Like there’s nothing in the world that can stop him now. His house is empty and he can just go out and do normal teenager things. On Halloween, no less. Liz has broken up with Kyle and Alex doesn’t have to pretend he doesn’t hate him anymore. Life is good.

Even better when, half an hour after getting to the party, Liz spots Max Evans and Michael Guerin and hurries over to say hi. Max looks pretty good as Luke Skywalker—the Return of the Jedi costume _is_ the best one—but Michael is _killing_ it as Han Solo. As much as Alex loves Michael’s curls, there’s something cute about the way his hair is all straightened and slicked back; it must’ve taken him forever to do it. But Michael never does anything halfway, does he? He always looks good, but _dashing space rogue_ fits him like a glove and it takes everything Alex has not to swoon.

Alex nearly has a heart attack when Michael recognizes his costume, calling Alex’s favorite movie a _classic._ He almost immediately asks Michael if he’d like to watch it with him some time. Or they could watch Star Wars, if Michael would prefer. Or, whatever movie Michael wants. It’s physically painful, the effort required not to do that. Because that would be ridiculous. Michael doesn’t want to do that; why _would_ he?

So Alex keeps himself occupied listening to Liz and Maria chat with Max. It’s hard, but he manages not to stare at Michael the entire time. Only allows himself the tiniest glance every so often. Any more than that and Michael will definitely be weirded out. People already think Alex is weird enough, he doesn’t need to scare anyone else away. He and Michael may not be friends, exactly, but Michael doesn’t actively hate him. Alex intends to keep it that way, and that means not letting the probably-definitely-straight guy know about his crush on him.

When Liz and Maria excuse themselves to find a bathroom, Alex decides to try and stretch out his good luck and turns to Max, “So I know something you might be interested in.”

Max laughs, “Okay, I’ll bite. What?”

“Liz,” Alex takes his time, building up the drama, “just the other day—Sunday, in fact—dumped Kyle.”

Max’s effort to not look thrilled is valiant but ultimately in vain, “Really? Um, that, that’s a shame. She must be like, really upset. Is she okay?”

_“Max,”_ Michael groans, “are you fucking _kidding?”_

“What?” Max asks, clueless and innocent.

“If you don’t ask her out I swear to God,” Michael says.

“I’m not gonna do that!” Max insists. “It hasn’t even been a week; I’m not gonna take advantage of her while she’s still mourning!”

“She’s not mourning,” Alex assures him. She’s not. Not really; she’d been upset a few days ago, but she’s been feeling a lot better lately. She knows breaking up with Kyle was the right choice. “But knowing Kyle, he’s definitely gonna try and get her back some time tonight. If you don’t make your move now, he’ll succeed.”

Michael claps Max on the back, “Do it, man! You’re the one always talking about not wasting opportunities!”

“Guerin’s right,” Alex starts. He’s cut off when someone reaches out from behind him and swats at his hand from beneath, splashing his drink onto his face and down his shirt. He turns, furious, “The _fuck?”_

Kyle Valenti, covered with dirt and fake blood, laughs, “Aw, sorry, Alexa, did I ruin your makeup?”

“You’re not funny, Kyle,” Alex mutters.

“Where’s Liz?” Kyle asks, ignoring him.

“Off enjoying her freedom from _you,”_ Alex remarks. Of course Kyle is already on the move, _of course._

“Quit being a bitch, Manes. Where is she?”

“Hey, Kyle,” Michael interrupts. “This is Halloween, you know.”

Kyle turns to him, confused, “Uh, yeah?”

“You’re supposed to wear a _costume,”_ Michael says. Alex isn’t sure where he’s going with this but it’s certainly interesting.

“This _is_ my costume,” Kyle replies. “I’m a zombie.”

Michael fakes a gasp, _“Oh!_ I’m sorry, dude, I just thought you spilled ketchup on yourself.”

Alex snickers, glad to see _someone_ telling Kyle off. Apparently Michael hates Kyle as much as Alex does. Which makes sense; he’s Max’s biggest rival for Liz’s affections. It’s only natural that Michael, as Max’s best friend, would hate him.

Kyle glares, “Very funny, Guerin. And who’re _you_ supposed to be?”

“He’s Han Solo, dipshit,” Alex cuts in. No way he’s about to let Kyle try and insult Michael. Not Kyle, not anyone, not now, not ever. “You’d know that if you watched a decent movie now and again. Anyway Liz went home.”

“Bullshit, I just saw Rosa talking to Kate Long. I know damn well she’s your ride. Forget it, I’ll find her myself.”

Kyle storms off and Alex—knowing the window of opportunity to be free of Kyle is closing rapidly—grabs Max by the shoulders and shakes him, “I am _begging_ you, Max. Ask Liz out. I _know_ you like her. I’m _betting_ she likes you. _Please,_ I _cannot_ take another year of having Kyle Valenti hanging around us all the time.”

“I’ll ...think about it,” Max offers.

“Please do,” Alex says. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go dry off.”

He doesn’t want to leave. He wants to keep talking to them. Well, to Michael, anyway. Not that he doesn’t _want_ to talk to Max, it’s just that Max doesn’t fill his stomach with butterflies the way Michael does. It’s not Max he forces himself not to stare at every day, looking for the tiniest sign that maybe he’s just a _little_ bit into guys. He never finds one, naturally.

But Michael doesn’t respond to Alex’s farewell. In fact, he barely acknowledges it at all. So Alex takes the hint that he’s overstayed his welcome and departs without another word. Sets off to find Liz and Maria and distract himself before he starts feeling sorry for himself.

It’s a while before he sees Michael again. He’s behind the house, sitting alone on a bench. Alex tries not to stare at him as he and Maria go back into the house, but Michael looks upset and Alex wants to know why. Wants to help him feel better, whatever the problem may be. For less than a second he thinks Michael’s actually looking back at him. In fact, he’s positive. Michael sits up straighter and smiles at him. Nods just the tiniest bit like he wants Alex to come sit with him. And this time Alex is pretty sure he _is_ having a heart attack.

It probably doesn’t mean anything. Definitely doesn’t. Michael just wants to chat, that’s all. He’s probably bored. There’s nothing for Alex to be getting worked up about. But it still takes him several minutes to catch his breath. To slow his heart down.

To work up the nerve to look at Liz and Maria and say, “I need some air, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He tries to walk at a normal pace, to not seem anxious to get back outside. Tries not to get his hopes up that Michael is interested in anything more than just a normal conversation. Tries not to let the devastating realization that he’d been mistaken crush him.

Tries, and fails.

Because of course Michael hadn’t been looking at Alex. _Of course_ he’d been looking at the pretty girl who must’ve been standing _behind_ Alex. Of course. Why would Alex have thought anything different? Because he’s an expert in forgetting that his fantasies aren’t reality, that’s why.

Michael and the pretty girl are all smiles as they talk. She’s dressed as Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas, another of Alex’s favorite movies. Somehow that makes it hurt even more. Even though it shouldn’t hurt _at all._ Alex should’ve known better. He should’ve known Michael wasn’t inviting him over. He should’ve known Michael was looking right passed him, like everyone else. He should’ve _known._

He watches them for several minutes. Michael’s talking almost nonstop. Alex has never seen him look so open with anyone, not even Max or Isobel. She must be something, this Sally girl. What Alex would give to be in her place.

It’s not until he’s sufficiently buried the heartache that he definitely doesn’t feel right now that Alex finally goes back inside. He finds only Liz waiting for him. Maria, she tells him, has gone to chat with Adamo Rodriguez after some heavy encouragement from Liz. Alex is glad to hear it. Maria and Adamo have been flirting since the summer; Alex, Liz, and Rosa had all spent the entirety of the early evening convincing Maria to make a move tonight. It’s a relief to know at least one of them managed to get the guy.

At some point he loses track of Liz. When he finds her again, she’s asking if he minds if she takes off with Kyle.

“Sure,” He says, hoping she can’t see through him and trying to ignore Kyle’s smug grin. “I’ll find Rosa and let her know.”

He can’t find Rosa. She took off with some blonde angel, he finds out. No problem, he’s sure neither Maria nor Adamo will mind letting him third wheel long enough for a ride home. Except they’ve left too. He shouldn’t be surprised, Maria was under the impression that Alex would be leaving with Rosa. Bitterly he hopes that he can catch Liz before she leaves. He loathes the idea of asking Kyle for a favor, but at this point his only other option is to walk. They’re already gone though.

Walking it is.

He should’ve known tonight would be no good. He should’ve known he was setting himself for disappointment, as usual. That’s all getting his hopes up ever does, after all. He never learns. He should’ve just stayed home. At least then he would only be feeling his usual brand of _life sucks._ At least then—

“Don’ wanna …”

Alex is only a few blocks from Morgan’s house when he hears the slurred groan. It echoes loudly through the quiet, empty street. The voice is familiar, but it can’t possibly be who he thinks it is. It just can’t be. He rounds the corner hurriedly, and his heart stops.

Michael is being half-dragged, half-carried, his arm slung over the shoulders of another boy. Or man; it’s hard to tell from behind but Alex thinks he might be older than them. Either way, Michael doesn’t look to be in any condition to be going off with some stranger. And in a town like this, strangers are easy to spot. The Sally from the party is walking beside them.

She reaches out and ruffles Michael’s hair, “Don’t want to what, sweetie?”

“Not …” Michael can barely get a sentence out. “...not here …”

“We _are_ here,” Sally replies.

“Wanna go home,” Michael pleads, his voice childlike in his confusion.

Sally laughs darkly, “That’s where we’re going. Home.”

Alex’s heart stops when he sees where they’re taking Michael. Right toward an old van that could easily be the same one used in every _stranger danger_ video he’d been made to watch as a kid. Sally jogs ahead of them and slides open the back door.

“M’scared …” Michael whimpers.

“Don’t be,” Sally says in a mock-soothing tone.

“Hey! _Hey!”_ Alex runs toward them without thinking. He has no idea what’s going on but he knows he can’t let it happen. He also knows handling it himself is a bad idea. He _should_ call the police or run back to the party for help—he has no idea if these people are armed or something, after all—but he’s too afraid that if he lets Michael out of his sight it’ll be too late. “Where do you think you’re going with Guerin?”

The strangers both stop and turn to look at him. The guy is, fittingly, Jack Skellington, his costume as perfect as the girl’s. Somehow it has Alex even more on edge. And annoyed that he can probably never watch The Nightmare Before Christmas again without thinking about these two.

Sally smiles at him, “We’re just taking him home, little boy. You should do the same.”

“Yeah? Yeah, well,” Alex approaches more carefully now, “Guerin’s place is on my way. I’ll take him. No need for you guys to worry.”

As he reaches out for Michael, Jack pulls him away and shoves him onto the floor of the van, “Oh, I don’t think so. Little thing like you can’t carry him all by yourself, can you?”

“I’m not by myself, actually,” Alex bluffs. Up close, with the street light shining directly on him, he can tell that the guy is definitely older, at least in his mid, maybe even late twenties. “I was just about to meet up with Max.”

“Max went home almost an hour ago,” Sally replies, amused. “Don’t lie to your betters, little boy.”

So bluffing won’t work here. He’s not sure what to do next. These two are dangerous. Every instinct Alex has is telling him to run. He needs to get away from them, far away. But he can’t leave Michael with them; he’s just laying there helplessly in the van, curled on his side and crying and confused. Alex can’t let them take him wherever they’re planning on taking him. He can’t let them hurt him.

Jack takes a gold cigarette case from his pocket and plucks out one of the fancy looking black cigarettes with gold filters from it. He lights it with a gold Zippo and takes a drag before saying in a bored tone, “Run along.”

“Look,” Alex says, trying to step around them and get to Michael, “just, just let me take Guerin home and I won’t tell anyone about this.”

Jack presses his index finger to Alex’s chest and halts him, breathing smoke into his face as he speaks, “Go home, kiddo. You don’t want to get hurt.”

He _should_ do exactly that and just call the cops, but he tries again and pushes passed Jack, “I’m not leaving here without Michael.”

Jack steps in front of him, “Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.” Alex argues, flinching slightly when Jack flicks the ashes from his cigarette toward him. He tries to step forward again, “I’m taking him now.”

Sally yanks him away and wraps her arms around him from behind. Her grip is strong—unsurprising given her muscular frame—and he can’t get out of it. She rests her chin on his shoulder, her mouth against his neck as she speaks, “How cute. It’s like a little puppy trying to protect its boy.”

Jack laughs as well, “No, a puppy would be more effective. It’s more like a little … _bunny.”_

“Leave Michael alone,” Alex insists, ignoring their insults.

_“Leave Michael alone,”_ Sally mocks. 

“And what, pray tell, are you going to do to make us?” Jack asks.

“I, I …” Alex doesn’t have an answer for that. He can’t make them. He can’t even break out of Sally’s grip, much less overpower the two of them. He doesn’t know what to do.

“Or maybe,” Jack says, taking hold of Alex’s chin, his cigarette dangerously coming close to his skin, “you have something better to offer?”

“Aww,” Sally laughs, “it’s trying so hard to seem tough. Let’s keep it, I’ve always wanted a pet.”

“Now _that_ would be something,” Jack comments. “You wanna come home with us and be our good boy?”

Alex can’t breathe. The short, jagged breaths jumping in and out of his lungs aren’t doing anything to help him. His mouth opens and closes, but he can’t get an answer out. He can’t think of anything short of a miracle that can possibly get Michael and him out of this mess.

Jack lets go of his chin suddenly, “Nah, who needs a weak little thing like this for a pet? Let’s go home.”

Sally releases him and pats him on the head as she moves toward the passenger seat of the van, “Bye-bye, bunny rabbit.”

Jack waves his hand dismissively as he turns toward the van as well, “Fare thee well.”

Fear turns to panic as Alex grabs the back of his shirt, “Wait, wait! Please, let Michael go. I’ll give you anything, just let him go. Just leave Michael alone, _please.”_

Jack, it seems, isn’t amused anymore. He turns around faster than Alex can see. He doesn’t even realize what’s happening until his back hits a tree beside the van. His cry of shock and pain is silenced by the large hand over his mouth and nose. Alex wants to reach up and grab it, or push back, or struggle at all, but he’s paralyzed. He can’t move an inch. Just like him to freeze up at a time like this.

Jack’s face is barely an inch from Alex’s, “You’re trying my patience. Now be a good boy and go home, or the papers will have more to cover tomorrow than some missing foster kid.”

As if to emphasize his point, he presses his cigarette out against the tree, just barely grazing Alex’s neck as he does. Alex is trembling. Visibly. He whimpers under the hand holding him as he struggles to breathe. But he doesn’t turn his gaze from Jack’s. He gets the feeling that’s what Jack wants. Wants him to give in. Surrender. Submit. Alex isn’t going to. He’s not going to let them take Michael without a fight. He’ll find a way to protect Michael. Even if it kills him. And if the murderous glow in Jack’s hazel eyes is anything to go by, it might.

“What’s it gonna be, kid? Are you gonna be good?” Jack questions. He grips Alex’s face tighter and moves his hand up and down, forcing Alex to nod. He snickers to himself and says in a mocking voice, “Yes, I’ll be good now.”

Alex’s body is still stubbornly refusing to obey him, but the slight change in the way Jack is holding his face has at least given him enough space to take a breath. To open his mouth just the tiniest bit. He uses the opportunity to bite into Jack’s palm until he tastes blood. Jack hisses and slams Alex’s head back against the tree.

“You are a _stubborn_ little thing,” He growls. “But I bet it won’t take more than a few minutes to make you start crying out for _mommy._ ”

“Come on, quit messing around!” Sally calls. “I’d like to leave this awful place sometime this year!”

Jack smirks, “Looks like it’s your lucky night. Go on, then, hop along home, little bunny.”

As Jack releases him, Alex sinks the ground. He can’t feel his limbs. Can’t hear over his heart pounding in his ears. Can’t see anything but Michael, still laying limp in the van, looking right back at him. He probably doesn’t even see Alex there, but the look in his eyes is practically screaming for him to do something. To help him. Time slows suddenly, and Alex is sure he’s watching in slow motion as the door slides closed. His breath stops in his chest at the sound of it shutting. And he knows in his very core that if he doesn’t stop this now, he will never see Michael Guerin again.

There’s a rock on the ground. It fits nicely in Alex’s hand. Seems to be telling him something. He listens.

Jack screams obscenities Alex doesn’t quite understand as the rock comes down on the left side of his head. With both hands, Alex shoves him forward, throwing him into Sally as she rushes to get out of the van. Clearly too stunned by Alex’s action to react properly, they both fall into a heap on the ground.

Alex doesn’t waste any time in pulling the back door open again, “Guerin? Oh God, Guerin, come on.”

He tugs Michael up, uses the van as leverage to get him onto his back and he runs, not daring to look back.

***

It’s somewhat of a blur, getting Michael to his truck and searching him for his keys. Putting Michael inside and climbing in himself. Starting the truck, driving away, careful to avoid the street Jack and Sally had been on. Pulling up at 7-11 and buying Michael some water and some food. All Alex really knows is that one minute he was running away with Michael on his back, the next he’s taking a bottle of nail polish remover away from him.

“Guerin, you can’t drink this,” He says, not sure why it’s in the truck at all. Probably for Isobel, he thinks.

Michael, conscious but completely unaware of reality, groans, “Gimme.”

_“No,”_ Alex scolds. “I got you some water.”

“I don’ …need … _water,_ ” Michael slurs. “I wan’ my acid tone.”

Alex shakes his head, “Acetone is _poisonous.”_

Michael laughs as Alex helps him out of the truck, “Nah to _me …”_

“Yes, to you.”

The laughter continues as Alex sits him on the bed of the truck in hopes that the cool night air might help clear Michael’s head. He has a feeling that he’s been given far more than alcohol.

“Noope,” Michael laughs. “Cause I’m a ...I’m a _alien.”_

“Really?” Alex humors, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Uh-huh. And ace-t ...acep ...acit tome is _good_ for me.”

“Okay, well, it’s not. But water is. And sugar is. So why don’t you have some of that, okay?” Alex suggests, bringing the bottle of water to Michael’s lips. “Come on, Guerin, drink.”

_“Bossy,”_ Michael mutters.

He does as he’s told, though. He drinks the water and eats the candy bars and potato chips Alex bought him. Alex can’t imagine what kind of drug they gave to Michael, he just hopes it’ll run its course soon. He doesn’t know much about Michael’s homelife, but he knows his foster parents are strict. Maybe as strict as his father. He doesn’t think it’ll go over well if he brings Michael back at three in the morning in this condition. And he doesn’t think Michael will want him to take him to a hospital, either.

He’s not sure how he’d explain the situation anyway. Two weirdos come out of nowhere and try to kidnap Michael for reasons they never gave. Alex doesn’t know what to make of it. Somewhere, dimly, he thinks they let him get away. Thinks they could’ve caught him easily. _Killed_ him if they’d wanted to, with almost no effort at all. But they didn’t. They let him go. He doesn’t know why and it makes him all the more nervous about the whole thing. But he can’t tell anyone without Michael’s permission, so he’ll just have to sober him up before he does anything else. They can go from there.

Michael rests his head on Alex’s shoulder and hums, “You’re pretty tonight.”

“Thanks, Guerin,” Alex replies, draping his arm around Michael’s back. Normally he’d _kill_ to hear Michael say something like that. Knowing it’s only because he’s been drugged and doesn’t know what he’s actually saying is killing _him._

Nuzzling his face into Alex’s shoulder with a big, lopsided grin, Michael reaches up and twirls a lock of Alex’s hair between his fingers, “So pretty. You’re pretty, Alex.”

“Thank you, Michael. You’re pretty too.”

The way Michael’s eyes light up at that pierces through Alex like a bullet, _“Really?”_

Alex nods, certain that Michael won’t remember the full details of this conversation once he sobers up, “Yup. A solid ten. I’ve thought so since about the eighth grade.”

“Can I kiss you?” Michael leans up without waiting for an answer.

Turning away is—somehow—the hardest thing about tonight, “No, Guerin.”

“Why not?” Michael pouts.

“You’re drunk. And you’re drugged. You don’t really wanna kiss me.”

“I do!” Michael grins. “I wanna kiss you. I wanna kiss you _every day!”_

“Guerin, you have no idea how much I wish that were true,” Alex admits.

“But it _is,_ it’s—” Michael doesn’t get to finish. Instead he leans forward and vomits onto Alex’s lap.

Alex sighs, holding Michael up as he loses consciousness again so he doesn’t fall into the puddle of vomit now in his lap, “Yeah, that seems about right.”

He waits almost an hour for him to wake up before giving in and driving him, still unconscious, to Max’s house. He’s sure Max will look after him better than Alex can. At the very least, Michael will probably feel much safer waking up with Max than he will with Alex. No one wakes up after being _roofied_ and feels safe in the arms of someone they only know as an acquaintance, after all. And on the off chance that Michael will remember their brief conversation, Alex is pretty sure that Michael won’t want to be anywhere near him at the moment. Thanking the universe for inventing cell phones—just a few years ago and he’d have to ring the damn bell and alert Mr. and Mrs. Evans—he calls Max to come outside and meet him.

“What the hell happened?” Max questions.

“I dunno,” Alex lies, carrying Michael bridal style to the house. Somehow it’s easier to hold him now that he’s not terrified for their lives. “I found him like this. He was passed out in the street. He must’ve had a little too much to drink. Or, maybe someone spiked him. I dunno.”

Max hurries to take hold of Michael’s legs and helps Alex carry him inside, “Jesus. Thank God you found him.”

“I’m sorry to drop this on you,” Alex replies, “I just figured his foster parents would be pissed.”

“No, no, you did the right thing, man. No, they’d kill him,” Max remarks, a hint of panic in his voice. A little more than Alex had expected. He wonders if maybe Michael’s foster parents are more like his father than he thought. “You really think someone could’ve spiked him?”

Alex shrugs, “Well, he uh …he was awake earlier. I tried to sober him up, but he seemed …more than drunk. You know?”

“Fuck,” Max mutters. “I didn’t think that could happen to us.”

“Why? Guys get drugged too, you know.” 

Max freezes, “Uh, yeah. Yeah. That, you’re right. That’s stupid of me to think. Sorry. Um, you wanna crash here? My parents won’t care.”

“No, thank you,” Alex replies. “My dad’ll be home around seven, if I’m not there he’ll kill me.”

“Right,” Max nods. “Do you need a ride?”

Alex considers it, but shakes his head, “You should probably keep an eye on Guerin. He tried to …drink nail polish remover before.”

Max looks suddenly pale, “He what?”

“I stopped him,” Alex adds quickly. “He didn’t even get it in his mouth, I promise.”

Max sighs, “Christ.”

“Yeah, but even if I didn’t, it’s okay,” Alex laughs, “because apparently he’s an alien. And nail polish remover is _good_ for aliens. I don’t remember that part of Star Wars, but who am I to argue with Han Solo?”

Max’s laugh seems fake by comparison as he walks Alex out of the house, “Right. Uh, well, thanks, Alex. Get home safe, okay?”

“Night, Max,” Alex calls over his shoulder.

***

Michael’s head hurts as he comes back to consciousness, but the pain is rapidly fading. He opens his eyes and is surprised when he’s in Max’s bedroom. The lights are flickering slightly and beside him, Max is heaving into his trash bin.

“Max?” He asks. “What’s going on?”

Instead of answering, Max points to his dresser and Michael moves to grab the bottle of nail polish remover he knows is hidden in there.

Once he’s taken a few gulps, Max answers, “You passed out.”

“What?”

“You got too drunk. Or someone drugged you, I don’t know. Alex Manes brought you here, he said you were passed out in the street.”

“Alex did?” Michael questions. “Is he still here?”

Max shakes his head, “No, but you really owe him. He didn’t want you to get into trouble so he brought you here instead of your house. Or the hospital.”

Michael sighs, not knowing what to think. He doesn’t remember drinking all that much. In fact, he doesn’t remember much of anything other than starting a conversation with some college girl. Patty? Penny? He can’t even remember her name. Maybe he really was drugged.

“Someone wanna explain to me the little lightshow going on throughout the entire house?” Isobel asks, suddenly entering the room. “Mom and Dad are sleeping, not _dead._ They could’ve noticed.”

“Sorry,” Max says, “I just needed to heal Michael.”

“Why?” She asks. “What happened?”

“I uh, got a little too drunk,” Michael replies. “Apparently. Alex brought me home.”

“Alex? Alex _Manes?_ Did you _tell_ him anything?” Isobel demands, suddenly furious.

“What? No,” Michael insists.

Max groans, “Actually, you ...sort of did. You tried to drink some acetone and told him you’re an alien when he stopped you.”

Isobel glares, “He _what?”_

“Shit,” Michael mutters.

“Don’t worry,” Max assures them, “he just thought it was because you were drunk.”

“He better,” Isobel warns. She gestures to Michael, “I’m not winding up some human experiment because of this idiot.”

“Isobel!” Max scolds.

Michael doesn’t even have it in him to be mad. His moping had put his family in danger. He’s not worried about Alex getting suspicious, but if someone else had found him? He could be in a hospital right now. It wouldn’t take long for them to find out he’s not human. Then they’d put together that maybe the two kids found with him ten years ago aren’t human either. And if he’d just had the guts to actually get up and find Alex to talk to him instead of feeling sorry for himself, none of this would have happened.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers.

“It’s not your fault, Michael,” Max says.

“Right. Not at all,” Isobel mocks. There’s something deeply off about her. “You better hope Alex doesn’t get suspicious, or I’ll take matters into my own hands.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Max asks.

Isobel shrugs, “I’m just saying, no one in this town would question it if Alex Manes were to step in front of an oncoming bus.”

Michael stares at her in horror. He’s never imagined his sister could even suggest something like that. And toward Alex of all people. Alex, who would never hurt anyone. Alex, who had apparently gone out of his way to bring him here safely tonight. Who has never been anything but nice to them. Who might very well think it’s _cool_ that they’re aliens. Who Michael loves more than he can ever dare to admit.

_“Isobel!”_ Max snaps. “What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?”

“Relax,” Isobel says condescendingly, “I’m joking.”

“That’s not funny,” Max says.

Isobel ignores him and goes back to her room.

“What the hell is _with_ her?” Max wonders aloud.

Michael knows he should be worried about Isobel. Something is clearly very wrong with her right now. But all he can think about is Alex. About Isobel, his own sister, hurting him. He’s not going to let that happen. He’s not going to let _anyone_ hurt Alex, ever.

***

It takes a good forty minutes for Alex to walk from the Evans house to his own. It’s nearly five in the morning when he gets inside. He closes the door behind him and leans back against it with a heavy sigh and closes his eyes. So, tonight was kind of a disaster. A total disaster. The party everyone but him has been going to for years turned out to be a huge bust. Typical Alex Manes luck.

But then, if Alex hadn’t gone, who knows what could’ve happened to Michael? He’d still be with those two people, helpless and scared and dragged off to parts unknown. For once in his life, Alex knows for certain he’s done exactly what he needed to do. Had been in the right place at the right time, done the right thing. For once, he’s managed to _win._ He smiles despite his exhaustion and opens his eyes.

Body going cold and smile fading, he wishes he’d kept them closed.

“Dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 69 days until Halloween! 🎃 And what's a Halloween party without costumes?
> 
> Alex as Eric Draven (The Crow should never ever ever be remade but if it is I would not be opposed to Tyler as Eric, js)  
> 
> 
> Michael as Han Solo  
> 
> 
> Max's Luke Skywalker look  
> 
> 
> Liz's Morticia Addams costume  
> 
> 
> Maria as Hermione Granger (has there been even one scene where Maria has natural hair btw?)  
> 
> 
> "Poppy" as Sally  
> 
> 
> and, of course, Teave as Jack Skellington  
> 
> 
> And with that, I bid you all farewell until next time. If you'll excuse me, it's 4am my time and I need some sleep. 😴


	21. mistake twice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A celebration at the Queen's castle turns into something much bigger for Alex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another "during" chapter. Be warned for mentions of domestic violence and non-con, vague suicide ideation and everything you've come to expect when the High Court is involved.

Alex has never been fond of the word “decadent.” He can’t really explain why; there’s just something about it that he’s never liked. Commercials about things like _decadent chocolate_ have always bothered him. It’s a completely irrational annoyance, but it’s always been there. Until now. Because frankly, _decadence_ is the only word he can really use to describe antaran celebrations. Especially when they’re hosted by the Queen. They’re lavish, extravagant, and lengthy affairs. Some of them last from the morning well into the night. Those lucky enough to have the honor of being her guests are expected to change outfits at regular intervals—sometimes with themes imposed on them—and awards are given to those she deems best dressed for each interval. 

There’s more food served than could possibly be eaten. The appetisers alone could feed the entire planet, though naturally those in the Court would rather throw away the leftovers than actually feed the poor. Every meal is exceptionally grand, with multiple courses and—though it’s not normally customary on Antar to eat between meals—there are endless trays of hors d'oeuvres and smaller dishes at every turn.

The entertainment is never as simple as just music and dancing, though there’s certainly plenty of both. There are strange games to be played and spectacles to behold. Firework displays and parade floats and animal tricks and more. Performers of all sorts are brought in to entertain the partygoers; some are anatarn, relishing in the opportunity to be praised by their queen, while others are from colonized planets, hoping to earn the continued safety of their people by pleasing her. It makes Alex sick to watch, but as with everything else in the last three years, he has no other choice.

Tonight’s _decadent_ festivities are to commemorate the fiftieth year of Queen Maga’s reign, though technically twelve of those years saw Queen Mara on the throne; her time has, naturally, been erased from history. Fortunately, the night is finally drawing to a close. He’s finally made his final outfit change of the evening—a tight red dress that looks like it’s made of giant butterfly wings for the thankfully simple theme—and all that’s left is a few hours of dancing in one of Castle Sepsimia’s many ballrooms. After that he and Teave will return to Castle Esmarch and—after fulfilling his _marital duties,_ no doubt—he’ll at last be able to just go to bed. Sleep this night into the past and hopefully get to spend tomorrow resting; his leg is killing him and his dress is so damn tight it hurts. Teave does it on purpose, he thinks. Makes him wear such restrictive and uncomfortable clothing, puts him in dresses and skirts and skin tight bodysuits. Anything to make Alex uncomfortable or embarrassed. His husband does love his petty torments.

Queen Maga is on her throne, watching the festivities with her oldest daughter and head of her guard, Bremi, at her side. Her white gown is embroidered with sparkling gold flowers, a crown of butterfly shaped diamonds and pearls with a white butterfly veil trailing down her back. Bremi—a middle-aged woman with long blonde curls and light green eyes—is in a white suit with gold floral patterns stitched along it, a crown of white and gold butterflies atop her head. With the Alighting as bold as they’ve been over the years, she’s rarely away from her mother’s side these days. As though sensing him, Queen Maga glances in Alex’s direction, giving him the slightest quirk of her lips. He bows his head in response, showing her the gratitude she’s owed for even acknowledging his existence. 

He hates how much attention she actually pays to him. Sometimes he wonders if she knows that he’s not what they think he is. If she’s seen through the entire ruse and that’s why she likes him so much. Or if she believes it fully and thinks the time she gives to him actually is teaching an inferior creature how to be civil. Either way, he knows her fondness for him is a large part of why Teave is almost certain to be named her successor. It makes his skin crawl.

He stands silently at Teave’s side as he mingles, hands clasped perfectly behind his back and that “helplessly lovestruck” look on his face that they all expect of him. He hates how easy it is these days to fit into their idea of him. Infatuated when Teave is around and patient—with a slight hint of confusion—when he’s not. He knows exactly how to react when Teave begins to pet and praise him; when to lean into him, when to giggle, when to smile shyly. He never imagined it would be so easy to fool an entire planet of telepaths, but they believe every bit of his act.

“Really, Teave,” Kelico says, gesturing to Alex’s dress, “ _who_ did you get to come up with this? It’s to _die_ for.”

Kelico is the most tolerable of Teave’s rivals. She’s the least passive-aggressive and the only one of them who—despite how awful it is—seems to actually be concerned with preserving the Collective Consciousness over gaining power for herself. Unlike Vanka and Miripe, she was quick to see that Teave has beaten them in their bids for the crown. Alex suspects she realized it as soon as the Queen approved of their marriage, if the resigned look in her eyes when she danced with him that night is anything to go by. Her sleeveless black bodysuit is simple, but the enormous silver butterfly wing emerging from it is anything but. Around her neck and arms are countless gold chains with little gold butterflies dangling from them. The relative simplicity of her ensemble, Alex has come to see, is another sign that she’s accepted how low her chances are of actually winning the throne.

“Believe it or not,” Teave says, draping his arm around Alex’s shoulders, “Alex came up with it himself.”

“You’re right, I don’t believe it,” Kelico replies.

“He did. I told him tonight’s final theme would be butterflies and he asked for a dress made out of them.”

It’s a lie, of course. What Alex actually said was that it made him think of Effie Trinket’s dress at the second reaping. And despite the constant scoldings—and being violently thrown to the floor and screamed at over it two nights ago—he hasn’t _stopped_ saying that. Because if he can’t make fun of his miserable life, he isn’t going to survive it. 

Kelico clasps her hands over her chest and sighs, “How sweet. Did it suggest yours as well?”

“No, I just threw this together, actually.”

Another lie. Teave had brought in three seperate designers to ensure that his ensemble matched Alex’s dress perfectly without being too obvious about it. His waistcoat—which Alex hates to admit showcases his well-muscled arms nicely—is as red as Alex’s dress, his pants black like the patterns on the wings. He has several gold bracelets with butterfly charms on both upper arms, black on the left and red on the right; Alex has a matching set on his own arms. Two winding vines of black roses that match the halo of them in Alex’s hair are wrapped around his forearms and down his back is a long cape of red butterfly wings. Alex, as usual, he’s adorned in all sorts of extras—a bright red rose through his septum and numerous flower shaped diamonds in his ears—but otherwise they complement one another perfectly.

“I’m jealous,” Kelico says with a teasing laugh.

“You should be,” Teave replies, winking at her.

Alex tunes their conversation out, knowing there’s nothing he needs to pay attention to. Eventually, Teave leaves him for other matters and he finds himself sitting off to the side with the other consorts of the High Court, listening to them talk in hopes of catching anything that could be of use. It’s rare that they mention anything Teave doesn’t already know; most of their discussions are gossip or speculations about the war that’s been raging with the Alighting ever since they tried to abduct him well over two years ago. The Collective has been searching for their base since then, hoping to finally go on the offensive rather than continue defending against the Alighting’s guerilla tactics. 

The current conversation among his fellow consorts is centered around who they suspect will receive the Queen’s awards for best dressed this evening. They’re all showering one another with compliments and wishing the best of luck. None of them mean a word of it, of course. They’re standing on ceremony, but each wants nothing more than to win themselves. Winning, after all, means having their status elevated in the Queen’s eyes. And the higher _their_ status, the higher their spouse’s, increasing the chance of them being named her heir. Not that it makes much of a difference at this point; deep down the entire planet knows Teave is going to get the throne. Alex hates how much credit he can take for that.

“It’s only natural that we’d _all_ be in the running. Who could possibly have finer things than _us_?” Meltru, Miripe’s wife, says. She’s dressed in a black pantsuit, the lapel covered in lavender and blue gems and a sash of blue butterflies wrapped around her. A hairpiece of blue butterflies decorates her long blonde hair. “Of course,” she adds, taking the hand of Isdey, Kelico’s husband, “with a dress like _that_ I’d have to say your chances are the highest.”

Isdey, in a white dress covered in purple butterflies and a matching crown and jewelry, chuckles in return, “That’s sweet of you, dear. But when you get to be my age, you start seeing less and less of those awards.”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” says Wos, Vanka’s wife. She’s the newest and youngest of all of them, her wedding to Vanka only a few months ago, with jet black hair and bronze skin. Her sleeveless dress gives the impression that she’s wearing an orange monarch butterfly, and her arms and hair are covered in roses of varying sizes and shades of pink. A lace necklace of black flowers is draped around her shoulders, dripping with gold chains and black pearls. “We can only _hope_ to look as lovely as you when we reach your age.”

“Well, thank you. But let’s not leave anyone out,” Isdey replies, reaching out to ruffle Alex’s hair. Isdey is always particularly affectionate with him, a move that Alex suspects is meant to earn Teave’s favor when he inevitably wins the throne.

He stiffens slightly at the contact, but restrains himself, leaning into it as expected of him rather than pulling away as he wants to. He’s gotten used to this routine over the years. Listening to them talk, all the while keeping quiet and never letting on that he can understand them. If they don't address him by name, he doesn't react to anything they say. And when they touch him—as they often do—he accepts it patiently. The petting and the embraces and the little pecks and fawning over his clothes. Alex responds as he's been taught to; like a pet, eager for affection.

They know the red and black choker around his neck is actually a neuro-bridge, but they're still confident that he's not smart enough to grasp more than the very basics of their discussion. To their credit, he never thought he would get so comfortable using it either. It still burns and he can never wait to take it off, but he’s adjusted enough that he can at least keep his focus while wearing it. Originally, he could only understand when the person speaking wanted him to. Now he can clearly understand every word spoken around him, whether it's to him or not. He’s learned how to tap into the Collective Consciousness, beyond what he’s been granted access to. No one—not even Teave—ever notices his mind on the fringes of theirs. Not that he wants them too, of course. Better to let them keep underestimating him, and not give Teave reason to start suppressing his mind again.

He’s only done it a handful of times, but each one was a living nightmare. His free will stripped away, his body obeying Teave’s will instead of his own. At first it was a means of getting him to adjust to being connected to the Collective faster, but it’s become a punishment for unruly behavior these days. An unfortunately effective one; Alex is far more cooperative with the threat of losing all free will over his head. If he can’t at least have the safety and privacy of his own mind, he’s sure he won’t survive much longer. It gives him a new respect for the Alighting; he didn’t really disagree with them to start with, but the knowledge that the Collective can—and, he’s learned, _has_ —take away the free will of its subjects at any given moment is more than enough incentive to want them overthrown. Alex just hopes that if the Alighting actually _does_ overthrow the Collective Consciousness someday, they’ll be merciful enough to grant him a swift execution. 

“No, never,” Meltru agrees, running her finger under Alex’s chin. She and her husband are the most stubborn of the High Court, still determined to try and win the crown. Meltru does very little to hide that fact. “Lord Teave certainly knows how to dress his consort.”

At the mention of Teave’s name, Alex gives Meltru his full attention. His utter devotion to the man is, after all, a crucial part of his image. The sound of his name is the only time he should give any indication he understands what’s being said if he’s not being directly addressed.

Meltru laughs and swats his nose with her finger as though teasing a small child, “It’s nothing, sweetie, don’t you worry about it.”

He waits the appropriate amount of time, feigning just the right amount of confusion, then turns away from her. He looks down to his hand, at the rings he’s worn for a collective two years now. Engagement and wedding rings aren’t a custom on Antar, but Teave had them commissioned for Alex anyway. To make him _feel married,_ he’d said. Alex is certain the real reason is just to fuck with him. The engagement ring—given to him the day after their betrothal was approved by the Queen two years ago—is gold with an enormous flower shaped diamond and countless smaller diamonds along the band. The wedding band—gold as well, with roses engraved and tiny diamonds encrusted throughout—Teave put on him right after their official, Antaran, wedding. Alex hates them both. They’re heavy and tight. No matter how hard he tries to get used to them, he can always feel the cool metal against his skin. A constant reminder that he’s here til death.

With a quiet sigh, he looks out at the crowd of people dancing. Now and again someone will dare to ask one of them to dance, hoping to get into their good graces. With all of the Council members married, it’s the rest of their families—their children and siblings and cousins and so on—that the lower members of the Court are looking to wed for status. In order to do so, they need the blessing of the head of household—each of whom is, at the moment, occupied—but gaining the approval of their consorts is always a step in the right direction. So it’s not unusual for someone to dance with Isdey in hopes of a chance to marry one of his and Kelico’s daughters or with Meltru to get to Miripe’s youngest brother or one of Vanka’s many cousins through Wos. Naturally, no one ever asks Alex. As far as they know, there’s no one else in House Esmarch for them to pursue. He suspects that Teave’s possessiveness also has a little something to do with it.

It’s a double edged sword, never being asked. On the one hand, he gets to stay off his feet most of the night. On the other, it’s painfully boring and frankly, far too similar to his high school experience. Unless Teave or—on occasions when the wine is particularly flowing—one of the other consorts drags him onto the dancefloor, Alex is back to being a perpetual wallflower. 

Which is what makes it so surprising when a hand is suddenly held out to him and a smooth voice asks, “May I have this dance, highness?”

Alex looks up slowly, for a moment unsure the voice is speaking to him. He can’t see much of the man’s face behind the mask of pink butterflies, but what little he can see is heart-stoppingly handsome. Brown skin, brown eyes, a perfect jawline, black hair cropped short. Tall with lean muscles. Early thirties. His smile is pure confidence as he helps Alex to his feet. He’s dressed far more subtly than everyone else here tonight; just a floral patterned blazer over a button down shirt and dress pants, all black. The mask and the pattern on the blazer are the only parts of his ensemble that fit the butterfly theme, but he doesn’t seem concerned about what people may think of that. As he’s led to the dancefloor, Alex can feel the rest of the consorts staring at his back, all probably wondering exactly the same thing he is; why, out of all of them, is this man asking _him_ to dance?

Alex can't tell if he knows this man or not. There’s something familiar about him, but Alex can’t quite place his name. He’s met so many different people over the years—most of whose names he’s never even told—and the mask certainly isn’t helping. It's possible that his head of household has only just recently decided to allow him to attend these events. Or that he's new to the Court, recently married into one of the more prestigious families. Neither sounds likely to Alex. He can’t imagine anyone keeping this man hidden for long. Not when he's practically radiating charm like this. No, any sensible Court family would do anything in its power to marry this man into one of the High Court households. And though they’ve grown accustomed to having Alex around, the Court is still disgusted by the thought of mingling with commoners; he’s sure he’d have heard the news if someone had recently married a commoner. 

Hoping to solve the mystery, he seeks out the man’s mind with his own. It’s an odd feeling, actively _using_ the neuro-bridge and extending his consciousness out of himself and into the Collective. Teave had once described it to him as a place between individual minds where thoughts can be shared seamlessly. Alex hadn’t quite understood at the time, but now that he’s learned to use it himself he thinks he does. He can feel the minds of everyone around him, as though they’re a part of his own. He can’t exactly hear their thoughts—save for those shared openly within the Collective—but he can feel their emotions and understand when they speak, regardless of language. With a little effort, he thinks maybe he could even broadcast his own thoughts. Not that he wants to; if he were to even try, everyone would know exactly how far he is from being the innocent, helpless human they think he is. But if he can find this man’s mind and get close enough to it, maybe he can figure out who he is.

The only problem is, he _can’t_ find the man’s mind. It _should_ be right in front of his own, just like the man’s body, but it’s nowhere to be found. It doesn’t make any sense. Even when someone’s consciousness is outside of them—contacting someone else, perhaps—their _mind_ should still be with their body. And yet Alex can’t sense it at all. He can sense everyone else in the room without issue, but not this man.

“Is something wrong, highness?” The man asks suddenly.

Not wanting to let on about his secret skill, Alex shakes his head. Maybe he’s just too tired from the long day to find this man’s mind. It’s not the first time he's had trouble, especially at the end of the night. Wearing the neuro-bridge passively always fries his brain, after all, and sometimes using it actively is just too much. He’ll have to ask Teave the man's identity later. Despite their marriage technically making him part of the High Court, Alex is still considered an _inferior_ being. He’s not allowed to speak unless given permission from Teave or the Queen, so he can’t just ask the man himself.

“Are you sure?” The man asks.

Forcing a smile, Alex nods politely.

The man looks unconvinced, “Was I too forward? Maybe I should have asked Lord Teave’s permission first.”

Having no real answer to give, Alex looks around the room for Teave, but he’s nowhere to be found. It’s not unusual for him and the other Council members to slip away from the festivities from time to time and deal with some political matters. The only one of them in the room at the moment is Miripe, in a chocolate colored gown covered in blue butterflies that match his wife’s sash. He’s chatting up some women half his age at the moment, and Alex wonders how he’d react if he knew that all of the servants constantly gossip about his many affairs. Alex turns his attention back to his dance partner and shrugs, hoping to convey the _innocent confusion_ that seems to so endear him to the Court.

“I’m sorry if I’ve put you in an awkward position. I didn’t mean to,” The man says. He chuckles, “Actually, the whole reason I asked you to dance is because I wanted to apologize. I don’t know if you would remember me, but the first time we met I was …very rude to you. And I’m sorry for that. I was wrong.”

That bit of information doesn’t particularly narrow down the list of possible people this man could be. Virtually everyone he’s met has been rude to him in one way or another, at least before the attempted kidnapping. Most of them softened after that, though plenty of others were still unconvinced that he was anything but vermin. Stopping an attempt on the Queen’s life, however, has gotten just about everyone in the Collective to come around. Even the other members of the High Court like him for the most part, save for his role in all but guaranteeing that Teave will claim the throne.

He offers the man a courteous smile, his only means of accepting the oddly sincere apology. People may like him now, but that doesn’t mean any have considered their past treatment of him to have been a problem. And they certainly don’t regard him as their equal, worthy of apologies. In fact, it’s their view of him as beneath them that has them liking him in the first place, the way humans love animals. Only Endy and a small handful of other servants have actually apologized to him and treat him like a _person._ This man _must_ be a former commoner to treat Alex with genuine respect.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, you know,” the man goes on. “The servants talk about you all the time.”

Taken aback, Alex tenses. He knows he’s been the subject of plenty of gossip since arriving, but he’s not sure what more they could still be talking about. As far as he knows, he’s been playing his role perfectly. He hasn’t caused any of the servants trouble since the day Endy began speaking to him. In fact, he’s done his best to be polite and cooperative and friendly. He can’t imagine what he’s doing wrong. 

“Good things,” the man assures him, as though reading his thoughts. For all Alex knows, he could be. “They all appreciate how you …well, _appreciate_ them. It’s refreshing.”

 _Definitely_ a former commoner. People born and raised in the Court don’t particularly care about what their servants think. They’re too busy being spoiled and selfish rich people to care about others. One of the unfortunate similarities Antar bears to Earth.

“If you don’t mind my asking, is that normal on Earth? Treating your servants with respect?”

Unsure how to answer that without speaking, Alex shrugs in response.

“I’m guessing you didn’t have any back then,” the man comments.

Alex shakes his head. Every word this man speaks is more puzzling than the last. He must have done quite a job charming his spouse to have gotten here, because nothing about him fits with the Court. They don’t talk to Alex like he’s a person, they don’t care about the feelings of servants, and they’re not interested in life on Earth. 

“Well,” The man smiles as the song comes to an end and gently guides them back to where Alex had been sitting just minutes ago, “I won’t take up any more of your time tonight, highness. Thank you for the dance.”

Heart pounding, Alex watches the man disappear back into the crowd. He’s not sure what it is about him that has Alex’s heart racing like this, but he’s suddenly feeling like a teenager again. Blushing and wondering what could possibly have motivated the cute guy to want to talk to him. The rest of the consorts are staring at him in a mix of wonder and jealousy. He doesn’t blame them, if he’s being honest. If he’d been watching one of them dancing with that man, he’d be jealous too, married or not. 

He shakes his head. He can’t think things like that. Just because some tall, dark and handsome stranger asked him to dance doesn’t mean anything’s changed. His life is still exactly the way it was a few minutes ago. He’s still married to Teave—or rather, still his prisoner. Still devoted to serving him and ensuring the safety of his family. His life belongs to Teave and it always will. He can’t go letting himself get caught up in some fantasy that any of that could ever change. Not when such thoughts are a death sentence for his loved ones. 

“My, oh my,” Meltru says. “Perhaps Lord Teave ought to keep you on a leash, shouldn’t he, Alex?”

He looks at her to find her grinning at him.

“You’ll start all kinds of rumors if you go around dancing with other people like that,” She goes on.

Isdey snickers, “Don’t tease it like that, Meltru.”

“Like what?” Meltru asks, feigning innocence. “I’m just concerned, is all. Wouldn’t want it getting confused and going home with the wrong man, now, would we?”

“Oh, stop it,” Isdey scolds. “Alex knows it isn’t allowed to refuse a higher being unless it’s breaking the law or Lord Teave’s command. Don’t let her bother you, Alex, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

Long used to this sort of degrading treatment, Alex keeps his face neutral. Tries to ignore the way they’re speaking of him. Reminds himself that getting angry will only make things worse. He doesn’t want to wind up muzzled again, after all. That would only give them—especially Meltru—even more fuel. Still, he does have one way to get away from it, at least for a little while. Personal attendants are always expected to accompany them to the Queen’s gatherings, to help with the many costume changes and tend to the needs of the oh so _delicate_ consorts. He grasps his leg lightly, right where the prosthetic begins, and massages gently. Winces like it’s sore to the touch.

Right on cue, Endy approaches from where she’s been standing off to the side with the other attendants and curtsies, “Pardon me, your highnesses, but it would seem Lord Teave’s consort is in need of his Wound Salve.”

“Aw,” Meltru coos, toying with one of the little black roses in Alex’s hair, “poor tired little human.”

“I don’t understand how it even _walks_ on that thing,” Wos says, watching Endy help Alex to his feet. He knows that she—unlike most others—isn’t intentionally offensive, but genuinely curious about his leg. It’s easier to be patient with her well-meaning invasiveness than the condescension he gets from the others. Under different circumstances, he might actually like her. “It looks so painful.”

They ignore the rest of the conversation as they depart, Alex making a show of leaning more weight on Endy than he really needs to. She takes him outside onto the least occupied balcony and helps him onto the bench furthest from the handful of other people out here.

“Do you really need it?” She asks quietly, reaching into the pocket of her green butterfly skirt and taking out a round gold container.

Alex sighs, “No, not really. I just had to get the hell away from them for a little while.”

Endy nods, “I had a feeling. Think I should apply it anyway? In case anyone looks over here?”

“Yeah,” Alex says, “just in case.”

He rolls the dress up just enough to remove his prosthetic as Endy kneels down and opens the container. The cherry red ointment inside is the most potent painkiller Antarans have, soothing to minor injuries and worn muscles. It’s the only treatment he has when his leg really is in pain. And since it’s one of the few things no one will question, he can—every once in a while—use it as an excuse to get away from the crowd for just a few minutes.

“I haven’t seen Dame Meltru so worked up over you in a while,” Endy comments, gently applying the Salve to his skin. “She must have _really_ wanted to dance with that man.”

Alex laughs, “Can you blame her?”

“You know I don’t care much for men, Alex,” Endy laughs in return. “But I _suppose_ he was alright.”

“As someone who cares _very much_ for men, I’d say he was a little more than that,” Alex says.

Endy smirks, “Oh _really?”_

“Don’t look at me like that. I may be stuck married to Prince Humperdink, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have eyes.”

“Speaking of which,” Endy says, closing up the container and returning it to her pocket, “you never finished that story. What _does_ happen to Princess Buttercup now that Westley is dead?”

If there’s one thing Endy loves to hear about as much as Alex’s own life on Earth, it’s the stories humans tell one another. They’re vastly different than the ones told on Antar. On Antar, they don’t root for the underdog. On Antar, David would have lost the battle, Cinderella would have remained a maid, and Steve Rogers would never have received the super soldier serum. Antarn tales are of the glory of the Collective. Their heroes are never outmatched or overpowered. Their victories are assured from the beginning, because they have the might of the Collective Consciousness behind them. There’s no such thing as a ragtag bunch of misfits thwarting a great evil on Antar.

Which, of course, is precisely the point. The High Court doesn’t want anyone getting any ideas, after all. But Endy listens to all of Alex’s stories, loving every second of them even as he reminds her that humans aren’t always quite so heroic. She always replies that it doesn’t matter, knowing that in general they want to be is inspiring enough. She shares the tales with the other servants, all of them too afraid of repercussions to actually sit and talk to Alex themselves. Although, Alex has noticed many of them listening in on more than one occasion, always when Teave isn’t at the castle.

“I’ll tell you once we’re back at the castle,” Alex promises. “Right now I think it’s better if I stop talking before someone notices.”

Endy stands and brushes the dirt from her skirt, “Good point. Ready to go back?”

“Just give me another minute, okay?”

With a nod, Endy takes a step backward and lets Alex have the space he needs. He'll never be able to thank her enough for what a blessing she's been to him. More than once he's been sure that without her friendship to keep him steady, he'd have fallen apart completely. Not only is she his only confidant, but she's taught him more about antaran culture than everyone else combined. The tutors Teave brought in for him only cared about teaching him proper etiquette and manners, while Endy’s helped him learn all the little intricacies the tutors even never considered. Teave has given him lessons in history, but it's Endy’s version of each story he trusts as more accurate, even if some of the differences are only minor. She's filled him in on who the most important people in the Court are and each of their stories. Shares all the gossip with him. He has a feeling that the always high and mighty Meltru would die of shock if she had any idea that Alex knows that she had so much trouble fitting in with the High Court at first that her marriage to Miripe almost wasn't approved by the Queen.

Alex stands and leans over the balcony railing to get a look at the garden below them. House Sepsimia’s Quiet Garden is one of the most famous places on the planet, whether the family has the throne or not. It looks innocuous enough, an endless array of trees and shrubbery all arranged around a central fountain. Like all the other gardens, it’s big enough to house a village. Colorful, elegant, surrounded by a wrought iron fence. But each and every plant inside that fence is toxic, in one way or another. Poisons that paralyze, poisons that asphyxiate, poisons that exsanguinate. Poisons that can stop the heart outright. Antarans don’t understand the mechanisms behind the toxins—nor do they care to—and have never developed antidotes for them. Without intervention from a healer, even a small dose of the least potent ones will prove fatal. 

Most planets, Alex has learned, don’t use weapons like guns or explosives. There are no scary alien disintegrating rays or laser cannons. No phasers or blasters or—most disappointingly of all—lightsabers. Firearms and artillery, it seems, are an Earth specialty. Despite having tremendous technological advances otherwise, other species typically use weaponry considered a part of antiquity to humans. On Antar, they use melee weapons and rely on their powers for ranged combat. War prisoners are a foreign concept to antarans; only when someone has a high political value do they even consider taking them alive.

That very fact is exactly what makes the Quiet Garden so famous. All antaran weapons are infused with poison from it, making even a minor wound a deadly one. The garden’s role in making Antar one of the most feared, powerful empires in the universe has been critical. Alex shudders to think what would happen if they actually _understood_ how their poisons work and how many other ways they could utilize them. Of course, the opposite is also true; the advances they could make in medicine and healthcare if only they, well, _cared_ about that sort of thing. The things Liz could do if she had access to them.

He’s pulled from his thoughts by the ghost of a touch on his lower back. A touch he’d know anywhere, no matter how long it’s been since he felt it.

A grin spreading across his face, Alex turns around and sighs contentedly, “You’re here.”

He knows, even as Michael smiles at him and his heart melts, that this isn’t real. This Michael isn’t the real one. He’s just a phantom Michael that Alex’s foolish mind won’t let go of. One that’s been visiting him ever since his time in the Dark Room. A dream. A hallucination. A coping mechanism. He hasn’t told anyone, even Endy, about his Phantom Michael. Not only would they think he was losing his mind—which, he supposes, between that day in the Dark Room and the frequent brain damage from the neuro-bridge, he is—but it might make him vanish. That’s a risk Alex refuses to take.

“Of course I’m here,” Phantom Michael says. “Think I’d miss a party like this?”

Alex snickers, “Yes, yes I do. Ballroom dancing is hardly your area of expertise.”

“I will have you know I learned all of this when I was a kid,” Phantom Michael reminds him.

That’s true, he supposes. The real Michael _did_ live here until he was seven, learning proper High Court etiquette and manners. Still, it’s hard to imagine Michael as a child prince, living within the walls of the palace all prim and proper. Attending events like these on a regular basis. Isobel, maybe. Max, possibly. But definitely not Michael. He isn't even dressed properly for the occasion. Sure, the black denim jacket is new and looks amazing on him, but it’s open and Alex can see the grease stained T-shirt Michael has on underneath. And though his dark jeans are in better condition than most things he wears, there’s still a hint of dirt and grease on them. He even has his damn hat on. And absolutely _no_ part of him fits in with the theme.

“I learned a lot of things as a kid,” Alex counters, “that doesn’t make me good at them.”

“Alright fine,” Phantom Michael concedes, “this isn’t my scene.” He looks Alex up and down appreciatively and says, _“You_ on the other hand, are _perfect.”_

Alex crosses his arms over his chest and huffs, “Very funny, Guerin.”

“I’m serious! You look amazing!”

“I look _ridiculous,”_ Alex insists.

“You look beautiful, Alex,” his phantom says. “I mean it. You just feel bad because, as Max would say, you grew up in a patriarchy that teaches boys that dresses are bad. Fuck gender norms.”

Alex shifts, trying not to think about all the awful things that would be said to him if he were dressed this way on Earth, and whispers, “I can still hear my dad in my head.”

“He’s an idiot,” Phantom Michael says bluntly. 

“I just thought …after all these years of being a dress up doll, I’d finally be used to it,” Alex admits. “I know no one here thinks anything of it, but I still feel like I’m being laughed at. I still hear him mocking me.”

“Hey,” his phantom places a tender hand on Alex’s cheek, brushes away the single tear that’s escaped, “it’s okay. It’s almost over, darlin’, you’ll be home soon.”

“Home,” Alex whispers. He’s not even sure what that word means anymore. He lives at Castle Esmarch, but it certainly isn’t _home._ Earth, with the real Michael and all of his friends, he once thought of as home, but he knows better now. Even if he was still wanted there, he can never go back anyway. But he never wants to argue with his phantom, so he smiles weakly and says, “Yeah. Soon.”

“Now, no more crying, okay? It’s a party!”

Alex laughs halfheartedly, “Yeah, a party you’re not even dressed for.”

“What d’you mean? I look great!”

“You do,” Alex agrees, “but you’re not wearing any butterflies. And for some reason, we’re supposed to do that tonight.”

“Alright, fine,” huffs Phantom Michael. 

He takes off his hat and reaches into it like some magician’s gimmick, only instead of a rabbit he pulls out a silver chain. The small pendant attached is silver as well, shaped like something between a cloud and a flower. Or maybe a cloud shaped like a flower. And in the middle of the open cloud-flower frame is a tiny butterfly of gems, its upper wings pale yellow and the bottom pair a soft blue. 

Phantom Michael grins at him as he fastens it around his neck, “There. Happy now?”

“Where did you get that?” Alex asks, impressed at the sudden conjuring.

“It’s Iz’s,” Phantom Michael says with a shrug. That doesn’t explain why it was in his hat, but Alex won’t bother wondering about those details. “Didn’t think she’d mind if I borrowed it for a little while.”

“It’s nice,” Alex says.

“Thanks. I’ll let her know you said that. So, do I fit in now?”

Alex chuckles, “Yes, Michael, you fit perfectly now.”

“Great! In that case,” He holds out a hand, “care to dance, darlin’?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Alex replies, taking his phantom’s hand and allowing himself to be led to the center of the balcony.

He hasn’t actually gone anywhere. He’s still leaning over the railing—or maybe even still sitting on the bench—dozing off. All of this is just in his head, a desperate attempt by his heart to cling to hope. Visions of Michael here with him, making everything better the way Michael always has. Sometimes he even dreams that he’s back on Earth, the two of them settled into a happy life together. Or in some surreal place that combines both planets in that bizarre way dreams do. Some dreams are more vivid than others, and this time he can clearly feel his phantom’s arms around him as they dance on the balcony. That’s no surprise; the dreams are always strongest when—or right after—he’s been wearing the neuro-bridge. He suspects that’s because the damn thing is slowly frying his brain and driving him to total insanity. As long as he’s aware that this isn’t reality, though, he thinks it’s alright to indulge himself just a little. 

“I wish I’d asked earlier,” Phantom Michael says.

“You just got here,” Alex points out.

“No, I mean …” Phantom Michael sighs and admits, “I wish I’d asked you to dance at prom.”

“What?”

“At the prom. I wanted to ask you to dance that night, but I …I chickened out.”

“That’s very funny,” Alex says, rolling his eyes.

“I’m serious, Alex. I spent like an hour trying to work up the nerve.”

“Really?”

Phantom Michael nods, “Yeah.”

Alex rests his head against his phantom’s shoulder, hoping to hide his flushed face. It’s not true, of course. The real Michael hadn’t even noticed him on the night of their senior prom, not until his fight with Kyle. He knows that. It’s just one of many pleasant lies his phantom has told him over the years. But he doesn’t see any point in fighting it when his mind is determined to convince him of these little fantasies. Why give up the only nice thoughts he has left?

“Alex.”

The sound of Teave’s voice and the feel of his arms around him pull Alex away from Michael and back to reality. As he assumed, he’s still leaning over the railing, where Teave has come up behind him. Pulled him, once again, from the tenderness of his fantasy and into cruelty of real life.

“Not a good place for a nap, little bunny,” Teave comments. “You might fall.”

“Endavesculir would catch me,” Alex sighs. He doesn’t doubt that, but even if she didn’t, he really wouldn’t mind. Teave wouldn’t have any reason to seek retribution if Alex just happened to fall to his doom. Besides, with his luck, he’d survive long enough for one of the Queen’s many healers to reach him and then somehow the whole thing would make him seem even _cuter_ to the Court.

Teave rubs Alex’s shoulders and plants a kiss on his neck, “Is something bothering you, my love?”

“Oh, you know,” Alex replies. “I’m just a little anxious about the upcoming Quarter Quell.”

 _“Alex,”_ Teave scolds, squeezing his shoulders tightly, _“stop_ comparing us to the _fucking_ Hunger Games.”

Alex winces at the pain, but responds dryly, “My sincerest apologies, dear husband. Can you ever forgive me?”

Teave roughly turns him around, gripping him harshly by the arms and kisses him viciously. He nips at Alex’s lower lip when they part and says, “Consider yourself forgiven.”

“You’re in a good mood,” Alex says.

Teave grins in response, “I have it on good authority that yours is going to be named Queen Maga’s favorite outfit of the night. Not just for the hour, but altogether.”

“That’s flattering,” Alex replies, disinterested.

“Things like this count a lot toward being named her successor.”

“I know that,” Alex says, “but I’m not sure why it really matters at this point. Everyone knows you’re getting the throne, Teave. At this point I think half the planet would riot if you didn’t.”

“Don’t be cocky, bunny,” Teave says. “That can always change. Vanka almost derailed everything when she brought Wos into the picture.”

Alex doubts that. Before being courted by Vanka, Wos had already made a name for herself as a painter. For almost two years members of the Court had been commissioning her for portraits, despite her coming from the poorer section of the Middle Ring. They’re certainly enamored with her work—even Queen Maga has had her portrait painted by her—so it was quite the to-do when Vanka made her her fiance. But Wos hasn’t struck the same chord with them that Alex has; even though she’s from a common family, she fits in with the Court a little _too_ well. She’s talented and charming and witty and never forgets her manners. It didn’t take long at all before her birthplace became old news. Alex, on the other hand, being an _inferior being_ that just barely manages to keep up with his expectations, still doesn’t fail to entertain them.

But he knows better than to argue with Teave about these things and asks, “Do I need to make another lap? Show off my _pretty dress_ some more?”

“Can’t hurt. Oh, yes, that reminds me, who’s this mystery fellow I hear you were dancing with?”

“Dancing with?” Alex questions. He can’t mean Michael, can he? There’s no way his silly little daydream could somehow have been broadcast into everyone’s minds, right? Then he remembers the masked man from earlier and shakes his head, “Oh, right. I …don’t know. He never said his name.”

“What _did_ he say?” Teave asks.

“Nothing really. That he was rude to me once and wanted to apologize.”

“Tsk. Probably some guard from the Lower Ring who worked his way up through the ranks. Doesn’t know his _place,_ ” Teave sneers.

“Should I …not have danced with him?” Alex asks.

Teave shakes his head and waves his hand dismissively, “No, no, you did what was expected of you. But now that you mention it …” He turns around and barks at Endy, _“Next_ time someone outside the High Court speaks to him, you inform me that _second_ , you _hear?_ ”

Unphased by his annoyance, Endy curtsies and replies, “Yes, your highness.” 

Rolling his eyes, Teave turns his attention back to Alex and mutters, “Moron. I should’ve been the first to know.”

Alex wants to defend Endy, but there's nothing he can say to lessen Teave’s irritation. He’ll only make things worse if he tries, and he doesn’t want her in Teave’s line of fire any longer than she already has been. If Teave is frustrated, he can take it out on Alex, not Endy or any of the other servants.

“Is your leg bothering you?” Teave asks. It’s not out of concern so much as his own need to know.

“It’s alright,” Alex admits. “Not great, but not bad.”

“Then come along,” Teave says, holding out his arm.

“Can I have another minute?” Alex dares to ask.

Teave rolls his eyes, “Don’t be long.”

Amazed at the tiny victory, Alex watches Teave walk back inside. He must be in an even better mood than Alex thought, if he’s giving him his space even after being frustrated about the stranger dancing with him earlier. Looking in through the wide, open glass doors, he glances around the room, trying to pick the man out of the crowd. He spots Isdey dancing with a curly haired brunette in her mid twenties who’s probably looking to court one of his daughters. Vanka—in a one-shouldered black dress covered in a rainbow of butterflies, black lace flowers and gold chains over her uncovered shoulder—is talking with one of the Queen’s nephews, Wos wrapped around her arm. Miripe and Meltru are nowhere to be seen; Miripe is probably already sleeping with one of the women he was talking to earlier, and Meltru is likely pouting somewhere. He sees Teave talking to Kelico again. The Queen is still on her throne, Bremi at her side. But he doesn’t see the man from earlier.

He’s not sure why that bothers him, but he suddenly _needs_ to find the man and learn his identity. There’s been plenty of alcohol served tonight and he’s been busy playing his role, slowing his instincts. But slow instincts are still instincts, and at the moment his are trying to tell him something. Something about that man. He didn’t have the same air about him as guards typically do, even the few who’ve worked their way up from the Lower Ring. And if he’s married to one of the lower Court members, as Alex originally suspected, then Teave shouldn’t have even had to ask Alex who he was. He should’ve been able to find that out through the Collective Consciousness without even trying.

“Endy!” he calls, unconcerned with the punishment he’ll face if anyone hears him speak.

She’s at his side before he needs to call again and grasps his hand, “What’s wrong?”

“That man from before, where he is? Do you see him anywhere?” Alex asks.

Endy looks into the ballroom, but shakes her head, “No. Why?”

“Can you connect with him? Can you feel his presence at all?”

“Um …” She pauses, closes her eyes and lets her mind wander into the Collective. A moment later, she opens her eyes and shakes her head again, “I don’t see or feel him anywhere. Why? What’s wrong?”

“Call Teave. Tell him I need him. Right now,” Alex orders, surprised at the way his Officer Voice has so easily made its way back to him.

Endy seems thrown by the sudden change in him, but she reacts appropriately. Looking into the crowd, Alex can see the moment her mind connects with Teave’s to relay his message. He sees the annoyance cross his face, but it’s not important. If he’s right, Teave needs to know right away. He’ll have no reason to be upset with Alex or Endy. And if he’s wrong, well, he wouldn’t be filled with this sense of urgency if he was wrong.

He hadn’t really noticed it the first time, two years ago. As a passing thought, a vague observation, perhaps. It hadn’t honestly registered with him at the time as anything significant. After all, no one really takes the time to notice the fact that their kidnapper is drop-dead gorgeous.

“He says you’ll have to wait,” Endy says cautiously.

“Tell him it can’t!” He doesn’t care what happens to Teave or the Court, or even himself, but the ballroom—and castle in general—is filled with innocent servants. Alex can’t let anything happen to them.

“Alex—”

“Is there something wrong, highness?”

As Endy startles at the interruption, Alex steels himself and turns, “Veress.”

With a light chuckle, Veress removes the mask and smiles, “You _do_ remember me.”

“Don’t take it as a compliment,” Alex replies. He glances at Endy, but she’s just standing there, motionless. A blank look on her face. He glares at Veress, “What’d you do to Endy?”

“She’s fine,” Veress assures him. “I just needed to make sure she couldn’t interfere. I’m not going to hurt her.”

Alex tries to take a step forward, but his body won’t listen to him. 

“Get out of my head,” He demands. “Let me _go.”_

Veress shakes his head and reaches out for him, “I’m afraid I can’t do that. I have a job to do. And I’m not making the same mistake twice; you’re too dangerous to leave unrestrained.”

He wraps his arm around Alex’s shoulders and begins guiding him away from Endy. She doesn’t react at all. In fact, no one seems to notice. He suspects that Veress isn’t actually walking beside him, but rather influencing him from afar. To an outsider, it probably looks like Alex is merely strolling along the balcony while Endy watches. Nothing to be suspicious of. And try as he might, he can’t resist Veress’s influence. His body isn’t going to obey him until he’s been released.

“Where are you taking me? What d’you _want?”_

Veress’s grip tightens around him, “Just relax, highness. Or, do you still prefer to be called Alex?”

“I don’t give a fuck what you call me, just let me go!” Alex snaps, trying to twist out of Veress’s arms.

_“Please_ stop resisting,” Veress implores, “I _don’t_ want to hurt you. _None_ of you will be harmed, I promise.”

“None of …” 

Alex looks around and realizes what Veress means. On the other end of the balcony, Isdey is walking hand in hand with the woman he’d been dancing with earlier. He looks confused—almost afraid—like he’s not certain whether he knows her or not. His attendant is trailing a few feet behind them, the same blank look on his face that Endy has. Further ahead, on the next balcony, Meltru is sitting on a bench, half-asleep in the arms of a short but muscular blonde woman Alex doesn’t recognize. Her attendant is nowhere to be seen. He doesn’t see Wos anywhere, and hopes she’s still inside with Vanka.

“What’re you doing?” He asks, more frantically this time. “You’re already in here, why bother with—”

“Attempts on the Council’s lives will always fail,” Veress explains. “It’s better to enthrall the lot of you and bring you out quietly. This is the best way to force their hands without violence. Surely you understand that.”

“I understand that you don’t care what happens to the innocent people you leave behind when you pull these stunts,” Alex growls.

“What innocent people?”

“Don’t you get it? If you kidnap us, the servants are going to be blamed for it! They’ll be punished for not protecting us!”

Veress shakes his head, “That’s not our fault, it’s the Collective’s.”

“If you actually cared about the people hurt by the Collective you wouldn’t say that,” Alex says. “You’re just putting the most vulnerable people at risk with no guarantee your plan will work.”

“We _do_ care,” Veress insists. “And it _will_ work.”

“What do you think is going to happen here? That the Queen is just gonna give up control of everything for our safety?”

“Of course not; each one of you will be returned safely in exchange for a small secession. We can move forward from there, once we have our former kingdom back,” Veress explains. He’s struggling to keep Alex under control now and adds, “Now _please_ stop struggling before I’m forced to hurt you.”

Cooperating _would_ be easier on him. The effort it’s taking him just to struggle is monumental. Even if he does break free of Veress’s influence, he might be too exhausted to do anything else. And he remembers all too well what happened the last time he tried to escape on his own. Whatever the Alighting is planning to do with him, it’s still better than being put into the Dark Room again. But Alex’s wellbeing isn’t all that’s at stake this time. He’s not particularly concerned about the other consorts—save, maybe, Wos—but their attendants will pay dearly if anything happens to them. They could even be charged with treason.

And frankly, though he sympathizes with the Alighting _ideologically_ and in _theory,_ he hardly trusts their methods. Most of their attacks have done little damage to the elites; the consequences have mostly been suffered by the poor. The little farming communities around the city and the struggling working class inside it. Never the Council or even the Court in general. Alex suspects that if the Alighting does ever succeed, they’ll merely create the appearance of justice while maintaining the exact same status quo the Collective Consciousness does. 

So he tries, one last time, to break free, “Get _off_ of me!”

He jabs his elbow into Veress’s ribs, and to his surprise, the other man is knocked away. Alex takes advantage of Veress’s shock and punches him. He isn’t as strong as he used to be, not by a long shot, but he still tries to get as much exercise in as he can. He’s still strong enough that Veress tumbles backward and fades away, his grip on Alex’s mind broken. Alex, too, stumbles, dizzy from the sudden release. Fortunately, it only takes a second to regain equilibrium and focus. Wherever Veress really is, Alex can’t see him anymore. He hears Endy call his name, but he doesn’t have time to explain anything right now. Relieved that Teave is at least merciful enough to never make him wear heels, he runs to where Isdey and the curly haired woman are standing and practically tackles her. 

As she falls to the ground, the handful of people on the balcony start to notice the disturbance and he hears a series of shocked gasps and scandalized comments. Like Alex had been, Isdey appears woozy now that he’s been freed of the woman’s influence. Unlike Alex, he doesn’t catch himself and instead almost falls to the floor, stopped only by Alex catching him. His attendant shouts something Alex doesn’t quite hear and rushes over, every bit as confused as Endy. He takes Isdey from Alex’s arms and lowers him gently, the look on his face indicating that he’s tapping into the Collective to contact Kelico.

Alex doesn’t stop there. The series of balconies that surround the ballroom aren’t too far apart from each other, a distance that he could have easily crossed before his injury. It’s a little trickier now, between his impractical dress and much more sedentary life these days, but he climbs the railing and maneuvers himself across the gap, ignoring the commotion he’s causing. Unfortunately, said commotion has cost him the element of surprise and the woman holding Meltru uses her powers to restrain him before he can reach her. Behind him, he hears the other woman catching up and hopes he’s at least done enough to get the guards mobilized. The curly haired woman grabs him, twisting his arms behind his back and muttering something he can’t understand.

The blonde woman hoists a now fully unconscious Meltru over her shoulders and shouts something probably akin to _let’s get out of here._ As she turns to run, however, the blonde is thrown to the floor, dropping Meltru as she falls unceremoniously. Letting go of Alex, the curly haired woman turns just in time to counter Endy’s attempt to incapacitate her as well. Alex doesn’t waste the opportunity to thrust the heel of his hand upward into the woman’s nose, breaking it and giving Endy the upper hand. 

Rushing to Alex’s side she asks, “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Alex says. He pulls her along with him as he makes his way to Meltru, “Help me get her inside.”

“I’ve got her,” Endy replies, lifting Meltru into her arms. 

They make their way into the crowd of frightened and confused Courtesans. Not one of them seems to have enough sense to try and help, but instead they’re just watching it all unfold in bewilderment. Alex supposes he might have just ruined their image of him as meek and helpless, but he can’t worry about that right now. Teave will probably find a way to make this work to his advantage anyway. He and Endy just need to get to him. The crowd is refusing to part for them, each person trying to get a look at what’s going on. Fortunately, he can hear the Queen making some sort of declaration as the guards rush toward them. Whatever plan the Alighting had for tonight, it seems to be thoroughly thwarted now.

That’s the last thought Alex has before the explosion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I . . .may have gone insane with the outfits this chapter. I apologize for that.
> 
> Alex's dress & accessories:  
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> Teave's outfit:  
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> Queen Maga & Bremi:  
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> Kelico & Isdey:  
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> Miripe & Meltru:  
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> Vanka & Wos:
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> 
> 
> Endy:  
> 
> 
> Veress:
> 
> And finally, the necklace Michael wears in Alex's daydream:  
> 
> 
> TTFN!


	22. honestly not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being abducted by The Alighting, Alex learns about life on the other side of Antar's civil war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picking up right where we left off last time! Warnings for mentions of child abuse and conversion therapy, dehumanization/objectification, not exactly sexual violence but something sort of adjacent to it (very brief, starts with "his next visitor is a man he's never seen before...") ableism, and some subpar historical/political analysis.

The first thing that Alex notices upon regaining consciousness is that the fire in his neck is gone. Which can only mean that the neuro-bridge has been removed, something that, under normal circumstances, he’d be thrilled about. The splitting headache, the soreness throughout his body, and the fact that he’s laying on his side on a hard wooden surface all indicate that these are not normal circumstances. The next thing he notices is that he’s moving; a sense of forward motion accompanied by a gentle rocking sensation. A boat, he realizes quickly. He’s on a boat. Just another sign that something is very wrong.

Forcing his eyes open hurts and his vision is blurred. It takes quite a number of blinks to bring anything into focus. He tries to lift his head and immediately squeezes his eyes shut and drops it back down again, feeling as though his skull has suddenly been filled with water. He groans in pain and disorientation, realizing as he does so that he’s been gagged, a strip of cloth tied around his mouth. Startled, he jerks slightly, sending a jolt of pain through his body and bringing about another groan.

“Shh,” a soft voice soothes, the hand of its owner resting gently on his forehead. “Lay still. You’ll hurt yourself if you try to move now.”

Alex pries his eyes open again, looking for the speaker. As he blinks the spots out of his vision, Veress slowly comes into view, a concerned look on his face. Flashes of memory start to flit through his mind. An explosion at the ball; the entire store of fireworks set off inside the storage room instead of outside the castle for the night’s ending ceremony. The crowd in a panic, the guards desperately trying to calm them. Losing track of Endy. Someone grabbing him by the arm, possibly dislocating it. Being thrown against a wall. Trying to fight back, feeling someone else’s blood on his fists. And then ...nothing.

All he can tell is that he’s been captured. He can’t remember how. Doesn’t know if Endy is safe or even if he was the only one taken.

“We have a healer in the Deep City, she’ll tend to your wounds,” Veress says. “We’re almost there, just relax.”

Relaxing is the farthest thing from Alex’s mind at the moment. He shifts away from Veress’s hand—comforting though the touch is—forcing himself to sit up as much as he can. Even if his body wasn’t screaming in protest with every movement it would be difficult; his hands have been bound behind his back, his thighs tied together. He notes, however, that his prosthetic hasn’t been removed.

Veress sighs, “Of course. Why would I think you’d listen to me?”

Even so, he helps Alex to sit up properly, propping him against the side of the boat and apparently taking no offense to Alex’s lack of cooperation. Around them are three others; the two women from the ball, and Orif, the large, muscular man who’d been working with Veress the last time Alex saw him. They all look worn and battered, and Alex dimly recalls his fist meeting Orif’s face. He looks even angrier than the last time, bloodstains on his shirt and face and from the look of his right eye, he’ll have a hell of a shiner in a few hours. The curly haired woman is holding a bloody handkerchief to her nose and she has a gash in her forehead. Though the blonde woman is disheveled she doesn’t have any outward signs of injury beyond the tender way she’s keeping her right arm tucked against her body. Veress has some bruises forming on the side of his face, but otherwise appears unharmed.

The vessel is small, just a simple wooden rowboat. The paddles are moving on their own—or more likely, one of them is moving them mentally—and propelling them steadily through the water. They’re in a swamp, a maze of trees emerging from the water all around them. That doesn’t seem to be deterring them at all, though.

“I know it’s redundant,” Veress says, “but I really am sorry about all of this.”

Feeling Veress’s power altering the mindscape and causing the gag to disintegrate Alex replies, “You really don’t seem it.”

“Well you don’t seem like a consort of the High Court, and yet here we are.”

Alex scoffs, “That’s incidental.”

“What is?”

“Me being in the High Court,” Alex says.

“Oh …” Veress doesn’t appear to have a response to that. Alex isn’t surprised; like everyone else, he’s sure the Alighting fully believes the image of him that Teave has crafted. 

“What happened to Endy?” Alex asks.

“Who?” Veress asks.

“Endy,” Alex repeats. “The woman who was with me.”

“Your servant?”

“My _friend,”_ Alex says. “She’s only my servant when we’re being watched.”

For a long moment, Veress says nothing. Just looks at Alex pensively, then finally replies, “The last I saw her, she was bringing Dame Meltru to Lord Miripe. Once the guards came out, we just ran.”

Alex sighs in relief. At least, it seems, no innocent people were harmed in all this mayhem. If all of this continues, though, he knows it won’t stay that way. 

“Where are you taking me?” he questions.

“To the Deep City,” Veress replies.

“I …thought the Deep City was destroyed?”

That’s what both Teave and Endy had told him. Once the central city of Antar, it was abandoned when the five houses of the High Court came together and established the Collective Consciousness, who created the City Above as their new capital. The Alighting eventually adopted it as their own capital, and it was completely devastated in the last war. Naturally Queen Maga had sent a team to investigate the area right after the first attempt to kidnap Alex, and they’d reported back that the place was still deserted. Nothing but empty ruins.

Veress hums in affirmation, “That was a long time ago. We’ve learned from our mistakes since then. You’ll see soon.”

Alex doesn’t get a chance to ask what he means. The blonde woman grabs Veress’s attention, breaking the connection and rendering Alex silent once more. He watches them talk, trying to work out what they might be discussing. He suspects the other three might not be too happy about how open Veress is being with him. About the risks of giving him any information that could be used against them while they’re—for the moment, anyway—still planning to eventually release him. Then again, that would require her thinking of Alex as an actual person, someone who can not only understand but relay accurate information. If she’s anything like most antarans, she probably doesn’t. Most likely, she’s just telling Veress that he shouldn’t be wasting his time talking to a creature that’s so far beneath them.

It’s not much longer before the boat comes to a stop. Orif and the two women climb out while Veress turns his attention back to Alex. He crouches down in front of him and reestablishes their connection, “If you’re up to it, I can untie your legs and you walk on your own. Or, you can be carried.”

“Drag the damn thing through the mud!” Orif snarls.

Veress rolls his eyes and huffs, “Shut _up._ What’ll it be, highness?”

“I’ll walk,” Alex mutters.

With another roll of his eyes—this one more amused than annoyed—Veress chuckles softly, “Why am I not surprised?”

The rope binding Alex’s legs together undoes itself and falls off as Veress helps Alex to stand and exit the boat. He watches his captors secure their boat, keeping it hidden perfectly within the flora sprouting out of the water. Once they’re satisfied they begin walking. It’s not easy; just as Veress had warned, the movement hurts every inch of Alex’s battered body. To make matters worse, they’re going uphill through mud and muck and he can’t even properly move his arms with them still tied behind him. Though the night sky above them is cloudless—the red moon shining full and the silver one half-formed—he suspects that this particular area normally sees a steady rainfall. It’s hard to keep himself balanced, but he refuses to let them see that. He’s going to hold onto what little pride he has left for as long as he can.

There’s a tree at the top of the hill, covered in deep blue flowers that reminds him of the one in his favorite garden at Castle Esmarch. He’s seen it before, he realizes; this hilltop is one of the images that had been available in the window of his old bedroom. Its loop had been almost five hours long; first a light drizzle over the tree, followed by a thunderstorm, and eventually fading to a calm night before the rain began again. The Addled Impasse, is what Endy had referred to it as; the boundary between the Collective Consciousness and the Alighting’s territories. At least, that’s what it was before the Alighting was supposed to have been annihilated.

Though he’s seen images of the tree many times—he’s even dreamt about it—he’s never actually seen the view from the top of the hill. It’s stunning, to say the least. The valley below is so gaping and so wide that Alex finally understands where the name Deep City came from. The buildings aren’t just on the valley floor, but built into the surrounding mountainsides. The city has a sort of charming feel to it, nowhere near as imposing as the City Above. It’s clearly designed to fit into the planet, rather than dominate it. Or, it _was._

Every building is in ruins, shells of their former glory. Some have been reduced to rubble and those that are still standing look as though a light gust of wind would topple them at any moment. The whole place is overrun by shrubbery, and it’s flooded at the farthest end. The remnants of a dam are visible atop a waterfall just beyond the city, the river wrapping around the parts of the valley just above its reach.

The trek downhill is even harder than getting up it. Alex stumbles more than once, nearly loses his balance and falls all the way down. He manages, though, keeps himself upright as they move. Though he suspects at one point, when he feels the mud slide out beneath him and barely stays standing, that Veress may have helped him just a bit. If he has to be kidnapped, at least this time his captor is humane about it.

Once in the city, Alex is overcome with a feeling of emptiness. It’s forlorn, this place. Though they’re just old buildings, he almost feels sorry for them. Nothing is unscathed. Even the cobblestone roads are in pieces. He can easily picture what it must have been like here once, before the war tore it apart. Something happy and hopeful. The last hint of what could have been.

As they make their way toward the flooded portion of the city, the blonde woman clears her throat and gives Veress a pointed look. He sighs and nods, then tears a strip of fabric from his blazer. He looks at Alex and sighs again, “I’m sorry, but Tuttle is right. You’re too unpredictable to take any chances with.”

He uses the torn fabric as a makeshift blindfold, then takes hold of one of Alex’s arms to guide him. Someone else—one of the women, judging by the size of their hands—takes his other arm, both keeping him upright and in the correct direction. They lead him through the streets and he can soon feel the floodwater beneath them. He’s guided up a set of stairs, out of the water and into one of the buildings. Inside, there’s the sound of a stone slab being moved, then he’s lifted up and lowered through what he suspects is a trap door in the floor. Though they’re obviously in a tunnel now, his captors still don’t uncover his eyes. Based on the direction they’d been going in and how far they’ve walked—and the sound of rushing water around them—Alex guesses the tunnel is built under the river, possibly even through the waterfall. 

It’s hard to keep track of how long they walk for, but eventually they come to a stop. For a moment Alex isn’t sure what to expect, then the floor begins to rise beneath their feet. It’s dizzying, to be riding an elevator while blindfolded, but Alex does all he can to maintain equilibrium. Once the elevator stops, he hears a door open and they walk just a little further before finally the blindfold is removed and he stops dead in his tracks. 

The city is not simply hidden by the mountain, but _inside_ of it. More than that, it’s a sprawling, thriving city. They’re standing at the start of what’s clearly a main street, lined with shops and branching off into smaller pathways, some of them leading into caverns further in the mountain. Though the city is well lit on its own, there are numerous glass plates in the cave ceiling, letting the natural light of the stars and moons shine down into it. It’s remarkable.

He doesn’t get to admire it, though, as his captors quickly move him along the path. There are only a handful of people out at the moment, and all of them are staring at him exactly as the members of the Collective Consciousness had when he’d first arrived. Partly curious, intrigued, and amused, and partly disgusted and uncomfortable by his presence. And here he’d hoped they’d be at least a little original. 

He’s taken to a large, imposing building at the end of the road and by the time they reach it, he’s too sore and tired to focus on much of anything. As they enter, someone speaks out in a scolding tone, words he doesn’t understand. Alex shudders at the familiar voice. Poplital steps into view, holding herself with that unwavering confidence Alex has known her for since that Halloween so long ago. Her long brown hair is tied in a loose braid and her black evening gown is sleeveless, showing off her muscular physique. The gown seems out of place here, but he supposes no one is going to deny her anything when she’s been risking her life to gather them valuable resources and information for years. And not when she nearly succeeded in single handedly eliminating Queen Maga herself. Alex’s role in preventing that, he suspects, is one of the reasons she looks so displeased to see only him here and not all four consorts.

As she continues to speak, she reaches out and tugs sharply at a lock of Alex’s hair, smirking when he winces. He hasn’t met her more than a handful of times, yet she always seems to take extra pleasure in his pain. She’s almost more sadistic than Teave sometimes. Or perhaps it’s her personal grudge against Alex that makes her so much harder on him. Either way, he can feel his chances at getting through this unscathed—or even at all—slip away with her around.

After a few minutes of them talking, Alex is suddenly heaved up over Orif’s shoulder and carried outside again. He can hear Veress calling out in protest, but it seems he’s overruled and his voice quickly fades away. Orif mutters something darkly, obviously taunting Alex for his inability to escape from them this time. He jostles Alex quite intentionally while he walks until finally tossing him down onto a small platform in some kind of storage room. Orif slams his fist into a button on the wall and the platform rises up, steadily approaching a gap in the ceiling. Despite the smug, menacing look Orif gives him, Alex doesn’t break eye contact the entire time. He may not be able to do anything else, but at the very least he’s going to win the game of mental chicken. Clearly frustrated by Alex’s resolve, Orif’s spits at him. He misses, and Alex snickers loudly at his annoyed grumbling as the platform lifts him through the ceiling.

It stops then, sealing into place within the floor of the next room. It’s small, with just a bed, a toilet, and a small table and chair furnishing it. There are numerous tiny lights in the ceiling, sparkling brightly like some kind of Christmas display; it seems to be a custom here, he’s noticed. He waits for a moment, then tests the rope binding his hands; it takes a bit of effort, but eventually he manages to free his hands and pull the gag from his mouth. Slowly, he climbs to his feet and moves over to the bed. He collapses onto it, drained and debilitated and hoping that Veress’s earlier promise of a healer tending to him will still hold. He has just enough strength left to slip his prosthetic off before he drops his head down on the pillow and falls asleep.

***

The healer comes, as promised. A dark skinned, freckle-faced woman with hazel-brown eyes and her brown hair shaved almost completely away, she’s none too happy to arrive and find him free of his bonds. Her mental hold over him doesn’t feel nearly as strong as the others—he thinks he might be able to break free of it if he really tries—but he offers no resistance as she pins him down and hurries to tie his hands together again. Once she’s satisfied she gets to work healing him. It’s different than Max’s, somehow. Methodical, almost cold, while Max’s healing is a warm, all-encompassing feeling. Still, she takes away the pain, fixes whatever injuries had been inflicted upon him when he was captured. She hurries out, not sparing Alex a second glance once she’s finished.

His next visitor is a man he’s never seen before, carrying a small wooden chest and accompanied by Orif of all people. The new man is probably around forty, with red hair tied in a long ponytail and blue eyes. He speaks, an order to Orif that Alex cannot understand, but his tone is enough to tell him it’s not good. The man watches with a predatory satisfaction as Orif complies with his order, using his powers to hold Alex still and begins stripping him of his jewelry and piercings. He’s rough about it, but careful not to damage the jewelry itself. He hands every piece to the other man, who places it all inside the chest he brought up with him. Once that’s finished, he tears at Alex’s dress, leaving not an inch of his body covered. Defenseless, Alex holds his breath and does all he can not to show any sign of fear.

To his relief, Orif merely begins removing the piercings from the rest of his body. He makes some kind of snide remarks as he does, clearly mocking the red rosebud barbells through his nipples and the trio of butterflies in his bellybutton— because, naturally, everything Alex wears has to match, even if no one will see it—as he removes them. Despite knowing exactly what his intentions are, instinct has Alex flinch when Orif reaches the series of genital piercings Teave has forced upon him. His legs, he realizes, aren’t completely in Orif’s power, and he uses the bit of freedom to lash out and kick him in the groin. As Orif doubles over Alex knees him in the face and pushes himself backwards until his back's against the wall. It's not a good plan, of course, but he isn't about to make one bit of this easier for them. If Poplital has any say in what happens to him next, his survival is unlikely anyway, so why not go out with some kind of fight? 

Orif grabs him by the neck and pins Alex down on the bed, his powers paralyzing his entire body. His airway cut off, it's not long before black spots begin to form in his vision. Before he can pass out, though, the other man speaks out and Orif releases his neck. He doesn't let up with his powers, though, keeping Alex firmly trapped—and barely able to breathe—as he finishes removing his piercings. He makes a show of it, now, taking his time and being far rougher than he needs to be. When at last he finishes, he steps aside—petty enough to take the time to kick Alex’s prosthetic across the room as he does—and the other man steps forward. 

He reaches into the chest and removes a short gold chain, which he fastens around Alex’s neck. Taking a second chain from the chest, he secures the middle of it to the first and the two ends around his wrists, leaving only half a foot of space for him to move his hands in. He secures a third around Alex’s ankle and attaches it to the foot of the bed. Once Alex is secured, the man grabs him by the face and whispers something darkly before shoving him down again. Fortunately, that seems to be enough for the man, and he and Orif depart, finally releasing Alex from the invisible force holding him down.

Catching his breath, Alex sits up slowly and examines himself. The chain binding him to the bed is short, barely giving enough leeway for him to even get off the bed. Not even enough for him to hobble over to the toilet. There’s no way he can reach his prosthetic. Even if he could, the first chain is forcing him to keep his hands at chest level, and he’d never be able to put it on. All he can do is lay on his back and try to make himself comfortable while he waits for whatever comes next.

***

It’s hours before anyone else comes to see Alex. He sits up and tries not to let his guard down when it’s Veress who comes up through the hatch in the floor, a tray of food in his hands. He may be a good man from what Alex can tell, but he’s still his captor. That doesn’t seem to register to Veress himself, though, as he drops the tray on the table and rushes to Alex’s side the moment he takes note of his condition.

“What happened?” He asks, examining the bruise forming on Alex’s neck. “I thought Ulna healed you?”

“Yeah,” Alex says, his voice raspy from the strain. “Your buddy didn’t appreciate her work.”

“Orif?”

Alex nods, “Uh-huh. And some other guy.”

Veress sighs, “I’m sorry. None of this was supposed to happen.”

“Sure.”

Fiddling with the chain connecting Alex’s hands together until it’s long enough that he has almost full range of motion back, Veress says, “I mean it. The whole point of subduing you through your mind was to make sure no one got hurt, but you …”

“Don’t you dare,” Alex whispers.

“What?”

“Don’t try and turn this on me,” Alex says. “I didn’t ask to be dragged into your civil war. I didn’t _ask_ for _any_ of this.”

“You’re the one who married Lord Teave,” Veress says. “Don’t blame me for that.”

“I didn’t—you know what? Forget it. It doesn’t even matter.”

Confused, Veress shakes his head, “What doesn’t—”

“Nothing,” Alex cuts him off. “Absolutely nothing.”

He can’t get into those details now. Veress isn’t like Endy, bound by the same master and knowing exactly what the consequences of betraying him will be. If Veress knows the truth, he may try to use it to sow discord among Teave’s supporters. Not a bad plan, but Alex knows the Alighting will likely never supplant the Collective Consciousness. Not unless they can do so from the inside out and convince every single citizen to rebel. And even if they can get the citizens to turn on the Council, Queen Maga could suppress their wills and quash the uprising before it could even happen. Their chances of victory are slim, no matter what romantic notions anyone—even Alex—has, and if Alex does anything that could be seen as treasonous, Michael and the others are as good as dead.

“What happens now?” he asks, trying to steer the conversation away from his marriage to Teave.

“First we let things settle down, then we negotiate,” Veress says.

“Negotiate what? You can’t think they’re going to give you anything in exchange for _me.”_

“Of course they will,” Veress replies. “Queen Maga relinquished control of the Henne Mines in exchange for her consort’s safety.”

Alex rolls his eyes, “That was forty years ago and last I checked, Queen Maga’s consort wasn’t a human.”

“You don’t think your husband will push to make the trade?” Veress asks.

“He’d rather me be a sacrificial lamb than to look weak.”

“That’s …sad,” Veress says softly.

Alex shrugs, “Yeah.”

There’s not much for him to say on the matter. It’s just the way his life works. It’s highly unlikely—borderline impossible, even—that Teave will negotiate for Alex’s safe return. He’ll probably use the kidnapping to inspire more fear and hatred of the Alighting. Maybe pretend to be willing to negotiate in order to buy time until the Deep City is found. Then he’ll take Alex back by force, and if Alex is harmed or even killed in the process, he’ll just use that as more fuel. At least if he dies here, a martyr, he’ll ensure his family’s safety for good.

Veress seems to sense his reluctance to speak on the matter any further. He stands without a word and adjusts the chain securing Alex to the bed, making it long enough for him to move about the room. He returns Alex’s prosthetic to him, then walks over to the elevator.

“You should eat,” He says, stepping onto the platform. “I’ll send Ulna to tend to those injuries. And bring you some clothes.”

He leaves, and Alex is left again to wait.

***

Ulna does come and heal him again. She seems annoyed about it, but doesn’t say a word to him. Just heals him and hands him some clothes. Removes the chain from his ankle just long enough for him to slide the pants on. She leaves immediately after, so he has to pull the shirt on over the chains binding his arms. A little uncomfortable, but he’s had worse.

Days pass. Alex feels exactly as he had when Teave first brought him to Antar; bored out of his mind. Sure, he could be scared about the threat of death looming over him, but it’s really the wait that’s driving him crazy. He suspects that Poplital is trying to convince the rest of the Alighting that his bloody, violent demise will send a better message to the Council than returning him will. And while he’d certainly love to avoid that happening, he knows there’s truly nothing he can do about it. Either Teave will rescue him or he’ll die here, one way or another. There are no other options for him this time.

His only contact is when his meals are brought to him. It’s always Veress who brings them. He asks after Alex each time, offering to try and make him more comfortable. Making small talk, as though Alex really cares about the weather when he’s locked in solitude. Still, it’s better than being totally alone. After three days, he starts to give Alex updates on what’s going on outside of his prison.

“There was a rally held today. Seems the entire Collective is in an uproar over your kidnapping.”

“Did they say anything about Endy?”

“All of the servants from the other night are being investigated, from what our spies have reported.”

“I _told_ you that would happen. I _told you.”_

“It’s the Collective that’s hurting them, Alex, not us.”

“Don’t you get it? You’re not helping anyone by leaving innocent people to suffer the consequences of _your_ actions.”

“It’s for the greater good.”

“That’s easy to say when you’re not the one getting hurt.”

“You wouldn’t understand—”

“Oh, don’t give me that crap. I was a _soldier,_ Veress. I _fought_ in wars on Earth, I _was_ the expendable asset. I know _exactly_ what’s going on here.”

***

“I’m sorry if I upset you this morning. I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t know humans waged wars.”

“You didn’t know we were capable of _morals,_ either. You might wanna start checking your sources.”

“Some of our information may be …inaccurate …”

“You think?”

“But you’re wrong too, Alex. We don’t want anyone getting hurt. All we want is a free Antar.”

“Yeah, I believe that. But you’re still willing to let innocent people—the ones you’re trying to free in the first place—get hurt to do it. And even if you do get control and dismantle the Collective and free the people or whatever, you’re still planning to carry on having Antar colonize _other_ planets. How is that freedom?”

“No, no, we’re not like that. The Collective Consciousness wants to _subjugate_ other planets. We want to _share_ our way of life, our _glory_ with—”

“Other planets don’t _want_ your way of life. They don’t want your _glory._ And you’re not _sharing_ with them, you’re _forcing_ it on them.”

“Our way is—”

_“Your_ way. Just that. Live your way. But you don’t have the right to make _other people_ live it too.”

“Right, and I suppose _this_ is something you’ve experienced too?”

“My mother’s ancestors were invaded, murdered, and taken over. Most of the survivors live in poverty on reservations. Their way of life was stolen from them. And we’re not the only ones; I don’t even know how many civilizations humans have stolen from each other. It’s _wrong,_ Veress.”

“Is that why you went to war?”

“I went to war because my father threatened to murder the man I loved if I didn’t. And because I thought it would make me strong enough to finally fight back. Instead, I spent a decade helping to murder people to steal a resource that my country didn’t actually need, but the wealthy _wanted._ I’m not proud of it. But I won’t pretend it didn’t happen or justify it. The dead deserve better than that.”

“This war isn’t like that. We’re trying to free our planet.”

“I just _said_ I know that. And you’re right to. The way the Council runs the world is wrong. It’s _cruel._ But you guys in the Alighting need to take a deep look inside yourselves, too. Because if you’re not fighting for _everyone’s_ freedom, you’re not _really_ fighting for _anyone’s.”_

***

“Why did your father threaten you?”

“What?”

“Yesterday, you said your father threatened to murder the man you loved if you didn’t go to war. Why did he do that?”

“He …he thought of me as …an embarrassment. And he thought if I became a soldier, I wouldn’t be anymore.”

“Why would you be an embarrassment?”

“Because I’m gay; I like men and only men. And in the part of Earth I come from, a lot of people aren’t okay with that. My dad especially. He thought it made me weak, so he tried to change me.”

“Change you how?”

“First he thought beating me would be enough, then he had other people try to convince me I was just …confused and I actually _did_ like women. And when that didn’t work, he realized he could get me to cooperate if he threatened Mic-my, my …lover.”

“Is that …normal? Are fathers on Earth _supposed_ to be like that?”

“No, they’re not supposed to be like that. They’re supposed to protect and raise their children. And teach them and take care of them and …love them. I just got stuck with a really bad one, so …”

“That’s awful.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

“My father would never have done something like that. He always taught me that harming children is the mark of a coward.”

“He sounds like a good man.”

“He was.”

“Is that why you let Tahbos go that day? Instead of just using force?”

“The little boy that tried to help you? Yes. I had no reason to hurt him.”

“But he did get hurt. He and his family were arrested, you know. They were accused of kidnapping me. His mother and brothers and sister spent a day in the Dark Room.”

“…I …heard tell that …you were sent to the Dark Room, too.”

“I was.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You keep saying that.”

“I _am._ It wasn’t supposed to be like that. It was just …it was supposed to be easy. We were just going to hold you for ransom and then let you go. We’d hoped to make a …statement. Maybe get the other houses to start turning on Lord Teave for bringing you here in the first place. You were _supposed_ to be _helpless._ But …you fought back and I, I don’t blame you, but …we had no idea how strong you really are. We lost control before we ever even had it. And I’m sorry that you and those people—that boy and his family—all paid for it.” 

“Did you think it would be easier this time around?”

“No. We _planned_ to take all four of you, but we expected we might only get two or three. I had assumed that if anyone would’ve escaped us, it’d be you. I never once thought you’d be the only one we managed to take.”

“Well, I never once thought I’d be living on an alien planet, married to an alien prince, and held hostage for alien politics, but here I am.”

***

“We received word from our spies that your attendant has been cleared of all charges. They’re hailing her as a hero now, for what she did to try and protect you.”

“Thank God. I’d kill myself if something happened to Endy.”

“That’s …a bit extreme, don’t you think?”

“What, you don’t have people you’d die to protect?”

“Well, sure, _I_ do, but _you’re …”_

“What? Human or High Court? What circle are we going in today, Veress?”

“ …I’m _trying,_ you know.”

“…yeah, I know.”

***

One week into his imprisonment, Alex is given an unexpected offer.

“Would you like to come outside for a while?” Veress asks.

“Are you serious?”

Veress nods, “Yeah.”

“What’s the catch?” Alex asks.

Veress laughs, “Figures you’d ask that. We need to send proof to the Council that you’re alive.”

“And, what, a picture of me in here isn’t good enough?”

“Traditionally,” Veress explains, “political prisoners are kept in pods. For both _your_ safety and to prevent escape attempts. But we only have one and there’s been some …debate about whether or not you should be given the traditional treatment.”

Alex shakes his head with a bitter laugh, “So I’m not even good enough for a _pod?_ ”

“If it makes you feel any better, I prefer you not being in stasis,” Veress says.

“Really?”

Veress shrugs, “I like talking to you.”

Feeling the heat in his face, Alex turns away to keep Veress from seeing him blush, “Oh. Thanks.”

There’s an awkward moment of silence, then Veress clears his throat, “Well, anyway, I’ve been asked to bring you out so we can record a message to your husband and the Council. But I was also able to get permission to let you stay outside for a while. Under supervision, obviously, and _if_ you cooperate.”

“I can do that,” Alex says.

“Just so you know,” Veress says, “if you try anything _I’ll_ be in trouble.”

“Using my own principles against me, Veress?” Alex teases.

Veress smirks at him, “Too cruel?”

“It’s clever,” Alex replies, shrugging. “Can’t say I wouldn’t do the same.”

Veress unlocks the chain around Alex’s ankle, but leaves the one binding his hands as it is. It doesn’t impede Alex’s movement much anyway. He helps him to the elevator platform, his arm around Alex’s waist in a way that’s meant to look as though he’s keeping him under control. Unsurprisingly, the people all stop and stare at Alex as Veress guides him through the city tunnels. Instinct has Alex trying to memorize the route, but everything looks the same and it’s hard for him to take note of anything. Probably an intentional part of the city’s design, so that if it’s invaded, the citizens have the upper hand.

They enter a small building hidden in an alcove between two others, one that seems almost impossible to even notice if one didn’t already know it was there. Inside is a square room made entirely of gold. The walls are gold bricks, the floor and ceiling made of gold tiles. There’s even a pair of gold chandeliers in the ceiling. Carved into the three walls around the door is the symbol of the Alighting. Directly in front of the door is a gold basin on a gold pedestal, displayed ceremoniously like holy water in the entrance of a church. Inside the basin isn’t water, but a shining, silvery liquid that Alex recognizes as they key to the pods. And fittingly enough, in the center of the shrine-like room, a pod glows brightly.

“Okay,” Alex whispers to himself, “so, this is happening.”

“What’s that?” Veress asks.

Alex shakes his head, “Nothing. Just my tiny human mind trying to comprehend what it’s seeing.”

“This is our Healing Temple,” Veress says. “Our injured come here for treatment from Ulna.”

“What, she lives here?” Alex asks.

“Of course, where else would she live?” Veress replies. He jerks his head toward the pod, “Healers are sacred, and Ulna is the only one we have. She needs to be protected at all costs.”

Alex looks closer at the pod and realizes there’s someone—Ulna, presumably—inside of it. The weight of Veress’s words hits him then. Teave had also once said that the Alighting view healers as sacred, and even Noah had referred to Max as a “savior.” He, Michael and Isobel had been inside of their pods for fifty years. Unharmed and untouched by even time itself. Ulna doesn’t look to be older than her late thirties. And she had seemed skittish when she healed him, wary of him in a way no one else on the planet has been. If the Alighting truly believes she needs to be “protected” at _all costs,_ then … 

“How, how long has she been in there?” He asks.

“Since she healed you,” Veress says. “Why?”

“And she just …she just _lives_ in there? All the time?”

Veress nods slowly, unsure of what’s upsetting him, “Yes.”

“For how long?”

“What d’you mean?”

“How long has she lived in there?” Alex questions.

“I don’t know,” Veress admits. “Since before I was born. She’s …almost seventy, I think, so, maybe forty or fifty years. Why?”

“Jesus, Veress, is this this woman’s whole life?” Alex demands. “She just stays in the pod all the time until she needs to heal someone?”

“She’s a _healer—”_

“So she doesn’t get to have a _life?_ She’s not just a healer, Veress, she’s a _person!”_

Veress glances at the door, then shakes his head, “Alex, calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down! Do you have any idea how sick this is? What the hell you’re—”

_“Alex,”_ Veress presses his hand over Alex’s mouth, silencing him. “Someone is coming. If you don’t want to go straight back to your cell, you need to calm down. Do you understand me?”

Taking a deep breath through his nose to steady himself, Alex nods and Veress releases him. He stays quiet as Poplital and the two women who’d helped abduct him enter the room. The blonde woman is holding a bundle of blankets in her arms, while the curly haired one is carrying a basin similar to the one on the pedestal. They all greet Veress, and Alex doesn’t take the bait when Poplital smirks and greets him as _bunny rabbit._ He just watches as they use the liquid from the basin on the pedestal to get Ulna out of the pod and wrap her in one of the blankets. Complies without complaint when Poplital orders him to strip.

This isn’t the first time he’s been put into a pod. Just once before, when Teave took him from Earth. He’d torn Alex’s clothes off, making a comment about how he wouldn’t need Earthly things anymore. Then he’d taken his time as he coated Alex’s skin in the silver liquid, talking about how long he’d been waiting for that moment as he groped and fondled him. Alex had been too busy trying to grasp the reality of the situation to really care. Too busy trying to accept the truth he’d just learned to notice anything else. Not Teave’s hands on him, not the strange sensation of being scooped into his arms and placed into the pod, not even the fact that he was on a bona fide spaceship about to leave the planet forever.

This time is different. The substance is poured over him and smeared across his body until it’s right. Veress supports his weight as he removes his prosthetic. Then, he simply climbs in. And a second later, he’s pulled out again.

It’s not really a second, of course. They’d recorded and re-recording their message multiple times over almost three hours, he learns after. But to Alex, it wasn’t more than a heartbeat. It almost makes him wish that they would just leave him there until this whole situation is resolved. Until Teave comes or they decide to kill him or whatever fate has in store for him next. It’s better than Ulna’s life, at least.

Just as Veress promised, he’s allowed to stay outside for a while. Veress walks with him, letting him get a real look at the city. The way it’s built, it’s almost hard to tell that they’re inside a cave. Sunlight shines through the glass plates in the ceiling and every piece of architecture is designed to hide the cave walls. There are plants and flowers strategically placed to give the impression that they’re outdoors. The whole place, he thinks, is really very clever. 

When Veress brings him back to his cell, he asks Alex about what he’d been trying to say at the Healing Temple. Alex doesn’t answer him. He tries to push the thoughts of Ulna’s life out of his mind. Tries not to care about it. She, after all, wouldn’t care if _he_ were the one in that situation. He can’t do it, though. The very notion is too twisted. A person spending their entire life in stasis, reduced literally to their usefulness. A life forcefully expanded beyond nature’s intent, yet never actually lived. The Alighting think of themselves as fighting for freedom, yet they think nothing of keeping a person in storage to be used when necessary. It’s what they would do to Max if they ever found him, he realizes. He buries the thought quickly, unwilling to risk anyone somehow hearing it. More than ever he sees just how much was at stake for his friends, and how much they’re depending on him to keep them safe.

***

Alex is permitted outside every day now. At first, he’s given one hour. Veress collects him each afternoon after he’s had lunch and talks to him as they stroll through the city. Tells him about Alighting customs and their version of Antar’s history; Alex is pretty sure that the truth is somewhere between his and Endy’s stories. He explains how the Alighting is ruled by The Chosen, a group of four people that are selected by a popular vote. In the event that the four of them reach a stalemate when making a decision, the matter is brought to the people and their vote becomes the tiebreaker.

When the hour is up, he brings Alex back to his cell, then returns with his dinner several hours later. He tends to linger with him then, clearly wanting to talk more. He tells Alex a little about his life; he’d been ten when Queen Mara’s ship departed, fourteen when the original Deep City was decimated and the survivors went into hiding. He asks Alex questions about his own life and Earth customs. Alex is careful with his answers, making sure never to let anything about Michael, Max and Isobel slip. Or the truth about how he’d really wound up as Teave’s consort. Or anything that the Alighting could use against Teave. He doesn’t think Veress is _trying_ to get that kind of information from him, but he’s a smart man, loyal to his cause; if he caught onto anything useful, it’s only natural he’d report it to The Chosen.

At night, he dreams of Michael, just as he always does. Dreams of being back on Earth with him or him being here with Alex. Dreams of walking through a door and finding himself back at the Crashdown or the Wild Pony, Michael and everyone welcoming him home. Reminds himself when he wakes that the very thought is pure nonsense. When he’s alone, he tries to imagine what it’d be like if Michael and Veress ever met. They’d like each other, he thinks. It’s a shame that circumstances kept them apart when they could have grown up together, been friends. Like everything else, it’s too late for that now.

One day, Alex is told he can stay out longer if he’s willing to work for it. Members of the Alighting all eat dinner together in a large hall, but they have fewer hands to help prepare those meals now that they’re officially at war again. So, in exchange for washing vegetables for a while, Alex is able to stay outside of his cell from lunch until dinner time. Veress leaves him under the supervision of the kitchen staff while he works—a chain around his ankle and bolted to the floor—then escorts him back to his cell once he’s finished. He tells Alex about his father that day. He’d been a member of The Chosen and the one to first accept the offer of negotiations from Queen Mara; he’d been among those killed after Queen Mara was betrayed and dethroned. As the war continued, Veress had dedicated himself to studying politics and diplomacy, hoping to become one of the Chosen himself someday and reestablish the truce.

“I’m sorry about your father,” Alex says when he finishes. “That must’ve been hard on you, losing him like that.”

“He worked so hard to convince everyone that a treaty with the Collective was the best option that I still believed it, even after he died,” Veress replies. “I wanted to continue his work.”

“But not anymore?” Alex asks.

Veress is quiet for a moment, as though debating whether or not to answer, then says with a heavy sigh, “I should go now.”

Alex doesn’t ask him about it any further, understands his reluctance to talk about it. He just carries on helping in the kitchen each day as he’s asked to. The work is easy—either they don’t trust him to do more or don’t think he’s _capable_ of it—but at least it’s something to do. After a few days, they let him move from just washing vegetables to actually peeling them. He’s fully aware of everyone keeping a close watch on him at all times, both out of intrigue and worry that he may try to escape. He ignores them and does his job, unconcerned with what they think, and eventually they seem to get used to him. To think of him as little more than a background character in their lives. Veress continues to talk to him—the only person who does so—but he avoids talking about anything heavy. If these are to be his last days alive, Alex can think of far worse ways to spend them.

Then comes the day that he feels another mind connect to his own besides Veress’s. The connection is barely there, so faint he doesn’t even notice it at first. Not until he’s sitting in his usual spot in the corner of the kitchen, peeling alien potatoes and a tiny hand tugs at his sleeve. He turns to see a little girl, no older than six. Her skin is dark brown and she’s missing one of her front teeth and her long black hair is in a series of braids. Alex doesn’t know who she is or why she’s here. Maybe the daughter of one of the kitchen workers or maybe she just wandered in because children do things like that.

She’s staring at him in childlike wonder as she asks with the sort of unfiltered innocence only children have, “S’cuse me, your highness, why does your leg look like that?”

For an instant, Alex doesn’t know how to answer. He hasn’t been asked about his leg in years, he realizes. Antarans are either too scandalized by the thought or don’t care enough to know _why_ he has a prosthetic. Even Endy had avoided outright asking him, though he’d eventually given her enough details of human medicine and his time with the Air Force for her to piece it together. So it takes him a minute to gather his thoughts and provide an explanation to this child who, like all children, has no concept of tact or awkwardness.

“Because it’s artif-uh, it’s fake,” He says. “I lost the original, so now I use this one. It’s called a prosthetic.”

“How did you lose your _leg?”_ The girl asks, flabbergasted. “It’s ‘upposed to be _attached_ to you!”

Alex nods, “Yes, it is. And it _was._ But I got hurt, so the doctors had to remove it.”

The girl scrunches her face in confusion, “What’s a _doctor?”_

“Doctors are what we call healers on Earth. Only they can’t heal people just by touching them, they have to use tools.”

“Why didn’t they use their tools to heal your leg?”

“They tried,” Alex explains gently. “But it was so broken that there was nothing they could do about it. If they didn’t cut it off, I’d have died.”

Her brown eyes widen, “They _cut_ it off?”

The other adults in the room, Alex realizes, appear to have finally noticed the conversation. He can feel their minds reaching out to his, probably trying to make sure that whatever he’s telling the little girl isn’t some sort of Collective propaganda.

He nods, “Yes, that’s right.”

_“Barbaric,”_ A man stirring a pot of broth hisses.

“Did it _hurt?”_ The girl asks, paying no attention to the man.

“I was asleep. They gave me medicine so I wouldn’t wake up until it was all over.”

“So it’s all better now?”

“Well,” Alex says, “it hurts a little bit sometimes, but it’s mostly okay.”

The girl points to the gap in her mouth and proudly declares, “I lost my tooth!”

“I see that,” Alex chuckles. “I lost my teeth when I was your age too.”

She lights up, “Humans lose their teeth?”

“We do.”

“Do the doctors cut them out?”

Alex laughs, “No. They fall out and new ones grow in, just like yours.”

The girl looks thoughtful for a moment, then asks, “Can I see your leg?”

“Sure,” Alex sighs, amused, “why not?”

He rolls up the leg of his pants enough for the girl to get a good look at his prosthetic. Around him is a cacophony of gasps and other astonished sounds. Everyone has stopped to watch him by now, and few people have even stepped closer to get a better look. He tries to focus all of his attention on the child to keep himself from feeling overwhelmed by it all.

“Wow,” she gasps, “that’s cool! Can I touch it?”

“I’d rather you not,” He replies. “It’s my _body,_ not a toy.”

“Oh, okay. I’m sorry. How did it get hurt?”

“Well …” Alex pauses, trying to find the most child-appropriate way to phrase it. The explosion. The way he’d been pinned down and helpless as fire began consuming his flesh. The way his life was, ironically, saved by more debris falling and smothering the fire yet breaking his leg further. “I was in a building, and it …burned down while I was still inside it. I was trapped and I got burned by the fire.”

“Don’t tell her _that!_ ” shouts the man who’d called him barbaric earlier.

“Why not?” Alex asks.

“Because it’s not true!” the man exclaims. “What kind of person _lies_ to _children?”_

“It’s not a lie,” Alex replies. 

The man storms over, “So if I set you on _fire_ you’d just be _fine?”_

“No,” Alex says slowly. “I would die. Unless you took me to Ulna.”

“But you expect us to believe that these _doctors_ and their _tools_ saved you like a healer would have?” The man questions.

“Not the same way,” Alex says. “I’m sure if Earth had healers like yours I wouldn’t have lost my leg at all. But our doctors have _other_ ways to help people.”

The man sneers, “By mutilation?”

“It was my leg or my life.”

“But,” a woman at one of the sinks chimes in, “why would you _want_ to live without your leg? Now you, you have to use that …that …”

“Prosthetic,” Alex supplies. “It’s hard sometimes. At first I didn’t know if I’d be able to survive. I had to make adjustments in my life and there are some things I can’t really do anymore, but …I’m _alive._ It might seem strange to you, but the thing is, this _is_ my leg now. I say it’s fake because that’s the easiest way to explain it, but it’s literally a part of my body like anything else.”

“Can your doctors replace _anything?”_ another man asks.

“Um, not _anything,”_ Alex replies, “but a lot of things. Limbs and certain organs. Sometimes they only replace pieces and not the whole thing.”

Aside from the one angry man—who remains convinced that Alex is lying—the entire room is suddenly asking him questions. Asking him about human medicine and surgery. Asking him how he adapted to his prosthetic and what it’s like to wear it. How humans came up with all of it. Alex can only imagine how amazed they’d be if Liz and Kyle were here to explain in depth what he only vaguely knows; antarans, he learned long ago, barely have a basic understanding of anatomy beyond what they can see. Other than faint knowledge of their heart and lungs, they think of their bodies as mysterious and almost magical. He can’t remember the last time he talked this much. They have so many questions for him that before he knows it, the rest of the Alighting is arriving for dinner.

The little girl who’d started the whole conversation—Glia, he learns her name is—excitedly asks if he’ll sit with her. Her disappointment is palpable when she’s informed that he’s not allowed to stay with them for dinner. When Veress arrives to bring him back to his cell, she begs him to let Alex stay. He looks as heartbroken about letting her down as Alex feels as he tells her it’s not up to him. The rest of the kitchen staff seem almost as disappointed as Glia as they bid Alex goodnight, something that doesn't go unnoticed.

“You seem to be fitting in well,” Veress comments.

“I don’t know what happened,” Alex admits. “One second I’m peeling potatoes, next thing I know the kid’s asking me about my leg and suddenly everyone wants to hear all about Earth’s medical systems.”

Veress nods, “I caught some of it; it’s fascinating. We don’t have anything like that here.”

“So I’ve been told,” Alex says.

“You humans are really nothing like what we thought,” Veress says.

“That’s because when your people last visited was the beginning of our evolution. We hadn’t really developed anything yet,” Alex replies. “Earth is totally different now than it was then.”

“I’d like to see it someday,” Veress remarks.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Antar is an empire,” Alex says. “I don’t want to see my home planet conquered by it.”

Veress shakes his head, “I don’t understand you. You’re a part of Antar now. You married into the High Court. Why wouldn’t you want the same for your people?”

“It’s complicated,” is the only answer Alex will give to that.

He can’t sleep tonight. All the talk of Earth has him homesick in a way he hasn’t been in a long, long time. It’s different than with Endy somehow. Nostalgia eats at him, consuming his being as surely as the fire had consumed his leg. He misses Michael. He misses Liz and Rosa and Maria. Max and Isobel. Kyle and Jenna and Flint. He misses Greg and Clay, wishing desperately that he’d been able to make amends with them before leaving. He misses his mother, wishing he’d spoken to her more often when he had the chance. He misses Arturo and Mimi and Michelle. He misses the friends he made in the Air Force, the friendly acquaintances he’d connected with at his physical therapy appointments. 

He misses his cabin and Michael’s Airstream. Misses drinking at the Wild Pony and dipping his Space Fries into his Milky Way Milkshake at the Crashdown. He misses the days spent teaching Isobel how to throw a proper punch. Playfully getting Kyle to do his bidding by reminding him of things he’d done in highschool. Listening to Max wax poetic about Liz. Burying the past with Flint. He misses doing _anything_ with Michael. Kissing him, touching him, talking to him, seeing him, smelling him, just being _with_ him. Misses the time when he’d truly believed they were meant for each other. When he thought Michael loved him. Before he learned the truth.

He startles when he hears the elevator move. Sitting up, he watches it nervously, knowing that no good can come of someone visiting him at this hour.

“Well, well, look who thinks he’s so _special,”_ Poplital says in lieu of a greeting.

“Nice to see you too, Poppy,” Alex says.

“Do _not_ call me that,” she hisses.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Alex asks, unphased. If she’s going to kill him, there’s nothing he can do about it. Even if she didn’t have powers, the ease with which she’d restrained him years ago—and wielded her enormous sledgehammer in their last encounters—make it clear that she’s not one to be trifled with. In his current physical state, the best he’d be able to do is survive and hope to find a means of escape.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” Poplital says. “Trying to get everyone to see you as this fun, sweet little creature. Getting them to _like_ you.”

“Are you jealous?” Alex inquires, rather than point out that he’d been doing no such thing.

“It’s not going to work this time, _human,”_ Poplital growls. “You have stood between me and my throne long enough. And when I get it, you’re going to wish you’d died that Halloween.”

***

“Are you feeling okay, Alex?” Veress asks him several days after Poplital’s threat.

“I’m fine,” Alex replies. He is and he isn’t. It’s not the threat that’s bothering him—though he knows it’s far from empty—but the way he suddenly can’t push down his homesickness. The longing to return to Earth. Telling the kitchen staff about life there every day, he decides, is the cause. 

“Would you rather stay inside today?”

He shakes his head, “No, I hate being cooped up like that. Besides, I like spending time with everyone here. This is …honestly not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Veress laughs, “Oh? And what is?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

As has become the norm, the kitchen staff all flood him with questions as they work. He’s begun recounting stories the same way he does with Endy, and they all love them just as much. It’s not surprising that the Alighting eats up tales of rebels overthrowing dictators, of course. Others have started to join them, listening in from the door or trying to get assigned to kitchen duty so they can hear. He thinks there may even be a few joining in telepathically. If only his life was a little more like the stories they all seem to love.

“Do you have another story today?” Glia asks the moment Alex enters the kitchen.

“As a matter of fact,” Alex replies, settling into his work station, “I do. It’s about water, earth, fire, and air. Long ago, the four nations lived together in harmony. Then, everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gown Poplital is wearing:  
> 
> 
> Alex's nipple & navel piercings:  
> 
> 
> The chains around Alex's neck/arms:  
> 


	23. join me for a drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex spends some time with Isobel and Liz. Michael attempts to make amends for his behavior in Santa Fe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand we've jumped back in time quite a ways! C'mon, you had to know this was coming, right? lol This chapter starts about where chapter 14 "probably off pouting in his trailer" ends. Certain parts were written before I learned about what was happening in S2 and others after, so please excuse it if some things (specifically Alex talking about Maria) seem kind of ...uneven.
> 
> Warnings: references to child abuse, domestic abuse, homophobia, rape, unintentional victim blame-ish talk (Michael is trying his best but he does not know how to handle this situation) and general denial/justification of trauma by Alex.

Alex spends the entire day with Isobel. It’s oddly comforting, being in her presence. He doesn’t feel the need to hide himself and pretend to be fine, which is particularly strange given how horrible she used to make him feel. Adulthood and the revelation of similar experiences, he thinks, is changing that. And alcohol. There’s a lot of wine tonight and it’s bringing things out of them both. Things neither of them would ever say sober. 

“Do you ever look at Kyle,” Isobel asks, “and think _damn, that’s a face?_ ”

“He does have a face,” Alex replies.

“No, but like, have you ever _noticed_ that face?”

“The perfect cheekbones? The jawline from heaven? The _sparkling obsidian_ eyes?” Alex asks. He shakes his head, “No, never.”

“Don’t sass me,” Isobel says, nudging him with her elbow. “I’m serious.”

“I am very aware of how handsome Kyle is,” Alex replies. “But also at a party in eighth grade he told everyone I couldn’t play spin the bottle with them ‘cause I’d give them AIDS. So, uh, I try to avoid thinking about Kyle’s face.”

“What the _fuck?_ He _said_ that?” Isobel exclaims.

“Yeah,” He shrugs, trying to sound nonchalant about it. “Course I was so fucking stupid I thought ‘maybe he’s being mean to me because he likes me too’ or some dumb shit like that.”

“He was really mean, wasn’t he?” Isobel asks. 

“A lot of people were mean to me,” Alex comments.

“I was mean to you,” she admits, pouring another glass of wine.

Alex nods, “You were very mean to me. To a lot of people.”

Isobel takes a long sip before saying, “I told you if you were a better gay I’d let you hang out with me and my friends.”

“I believe you said ‘trendy’ gay, actually.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know you are.”

After a long moment of silence, Isobel goes to the kitchen and returns with an unopened, family sized package of Oreos. Hardly the sort of thing he expected to see here. Noah bought them, she explains at Alex’s perplexed expression. Noah had bought a lot of food that she wasn’t interested in, but she’d never thought anything of it other than to tease him for indulging in sweets and junk so much. She wants to throw it away, she says, but she can’t bring herself to waste the food. At the same time, she doesn’t want to donate anything from him to charity, even if the logic to that is flimsy at best. Alex tells her to hold onto it all for now and makes a mental note to use it later when they set things up for Rosa and Max. Then he asks if she has any peanut butter and laughs at the disgusted face she makes when he dips a cookie into it.

For all her protesting, Isobel gives in eventually. Alex watches in amusement as she scoops the tiniest bit of peanut butter onto a cookie and nibbles at it gingerly. Her attempt to hide her reaction is a valiant one, but ultimately in vain. Alex can see the pure enjoyment cross her face not a moment after she takes the bite. He laughs openly and she huffs and laughs too, admitting defeat. They wind up eating half the package while Alex explains MRE’s to Isobel. 

“They’re what sinners are fed in hell. You realize how wonderful fast food really is when you’ve choked a few of those things down,” He says.

Isobel grimaces, “That sounds awful.”

Alex smirks at her, “They’re even _worse_ coming out.”

“Oh, _ew,”_ Isobel slaps her hands over her ears. “I don’t wanna hear about that!”

“Didn’t get the nickname ‘meals requiring enemas’ for nothing, you know.”

“Gross,” Isobel says with a gag.

“You get used to them,” Alex remarks with a shrug. “They’re not _all_ bad, and Dad started us on them early, so …”

“How early?”

“Um,” Alex pauses, trying to remember exactly how old he’d been the first time his father made him eat the rations, “it was before my mom left, so I think I was about five or six. He took us camping and made us eat them for dinner our first night. Chicken and rice. I cried it was so bad.”

“Oh my God,” Isobel flinches at the thought. “And he still made you eat it?”

Alex snickers, “He told me I couldn’t have anything else until I finished it. And after my mom left, he didn’t know what the fuck to do about packing lunches for us every day so he sent us to school with them.”

“He _what?”_

“Not the whole package, obviously. The school would’ve lost it if they’d seen a bunch of kids heating those things up. He’d take the main and the sides and put them in our lunchboxes and we ate them cold. It took a few months but he finally started making sandwiches for us instead. To be honest I think he just wanted to save them.”

Isobel shakes her head in disbelief, “Alex, that’s _horrible.”_

“Yeah,” Alex replies. “It sucked. But to be fair, some of them actually taste really good, especially the beef stew. And they have candy.”

“I don’t care if they have candy!” Isobel exclaims. “You were children! Kids should not be eating military rations!”

“I’m not arguing that,” Alex says calmly. He really isn’t. He’d call Child Services on something like that right quick, but that just isn’t the point. “But it’s what happened and there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

“Nothing we can—” Shaking her head, Isobel downs her glass and stands up, “We’re getting dinner. I need _real_ food and so do you.”

“Okay,” Alex says. “But I don’t think either of us can drive right now.”

“I’m _ordering,_ ” Isobel clarifies. “There’s this Portuguese steakhouse that delivers. They are _amazing.”_

“Isobel Evans at a steakhouse?”

“Max dragged us there for our birthday a few years ago and I begrudgingly admit it was an excellent call on his part. And now you’re having it, too. You need _good_ food in your life to wash away the memories of those nasty things.”

“It’s not like I’ve been eating literally _nothing_ but MRE’s my whole life, Isobel.”

“You have still had _too many_ of them.”

“You know I was just kidding before, right? About the hell thing? Except maybe the vegetarian omelet but they don’t make that one anymore. On the whole they’re okay, you just get sick of them real fast when you’re eating them day in and day out.”

“Well you are _never_ having another one of those things again,” Isobel declares.

Alex wonders how she’d react if he told her he has a small stock of them at the cabin for emergencies. Probably with an intensity to rival Michael’s if this is anything to judge by. So he keeps that bit of information to himself and just watches as Isobel fetches her laptop to look up the steakhouse’s menu. It _does_ look appetizing, just as Isobel had said. Not that he didn’t believe her, but he knows she has a tendency to exaggerate, especially when she’s highly invested in something. And apparently, right now, she’s _very_ highly invested in making sure Alex eats anything other than military rations.

“It’s gonna be an hour,” she says after placing the order. “You want more wine?”

“We’ve had nothing but wine, dim sum, and Oreos over the last few hours,” Alex points out. “Maybe _your_ physiology is okay with that, but my body is gonna be _really_ pissed at me later.”

“Good point,” Isobel says, pushing herself up off the couch. She goes to the kitchen again, and when she returns she’s holding two glasses of what appears to be sparkling water. Pale pink sparkling water. She hands one out to Alex, “Hydration is healthy.”

He takes it with a soft laugh, “Thanks.”

As Isobel sits down again, her face lights up, “You should paint your nails!”

Alex takes a long, slow sip of water before answering, “And _why_ is that?”

“Because you _can_ now!” Isobel exclaims. “You’re not a soldier anymore, you can do _whatever_ you want with your appearance!”

“Technically I was never a soldier.”

“Oh, airman, _whatever,_ Captain Literal.”

“Isobel, I just finished _removing_ nail polish, remember?” Alex asks.

“Yes,” she agrees, “but that was stuff that Mr. Creepface wanted for you. Now you can put on whatever _you_ want! Come on, you love painting your nails!”

“I’m not seventeen anymore.”

“Oh don’t _give_ me _that,”_ Isobel scolds. “Your nails were always _flawless. Nobody_ puts that much effort into it if it’s ‘just a phase.’ Admit it, Manesy, you _miss_ the emo look.”

“I’ll admit to anything you want if you promise to never call me _Mansey_ again.”

Isobl rolls her eyes, “Noted. But don’t try to change the subject.”

“Fine,” Alex sighs dramatically.

He has to admit, Isobel isn’t entirely wrong. Despite what a strange number of people seem to think, his high school aesthetic really hadn’t been about “pissing off daddy” as they often put it. He’d just liked it. Something about it clicked with him, made him feel _right._ And maybe, just maybe, his massive crush on Frank Iero had a _little_ something to do with it. So against all better judgement he let’s Isobel Evans select a nail color for him. She winds up selecting a dark purple that he honestly can’t complain about too much, even if it’s not his _first_ choice.

There’s just enough time before the food arrives for Alex’s nails to dry. It’s every bit as good as Isobel claimed. The meat is tender and juicy, the sides perfect. They’re almost finished eating when Isobel decides to break out the wine again. She insists it’s for a toast—to getting rid of shitty men—but he suspects it’s her way of keeping him here longer. Why she’s so determined to do that, he can’t be sure. Maybe she’s just not used to living alone yet, and wants the company. He doesn’t mind giving it.

“How did you know?” She asks near midnight, stretched across the couch with her head in Alex’s lap.

“Know what?” He asks.

“How did you _know?”_

“Know _what?”_

Isobel huffs, “That you’re _gay.”_

Leaning his head back against the couch, Alex groans. This is not a conversation he feels like having. But Isobel has been nothing but nice today, so he replies, “I just did. When I was little and we’d watch movies and all the girls were talking about wanting to marry the hero, I felt the same way. I watched Power Rangers and I wanted to kiss Tommy instead of Trini or Kimberly. I swooned when the Beast turned back into a prince.”

“So just, watching movies? Celebrity crushes? That told you you were gay?”

“I mean, that was part of it. I didn’t understand any of it and I knew other boys didn’t feel the same way so I tried not to think about it. And then my dad got on my case about it and tried to make me a real man …”

“What, like, like _conversion therapy?”_ Isobel asks.

“I don’t wanna go into it,” Alex sighs. He really needs to sober up or he’s going to start spilling details of his life that will scar her forever. “But eventually I finally …learned what _gay_ meant and realized that I wasn’t crazy.” 

“But like, how did you _know?”_

Groaning, Alex rubs his hands over his face, “Fuck, Isobel, I don’t know. There’s no one answer, you know. It’s not like you reach a certain age and Lady Gaga appears in a cloud of rainbow glitter to give you your certified queer I.D. card. I mean, that’d be cool, but it doesn’t work like that. Otherwise she’d never have time to make music.”

Isobel snorts, “Because _that’s_ the unrealistic part about that scenario.”

“It is.”

“Do you wanna come to brunch with me?”

Alex lifts his head to look down at her, puzzled by the sudden, inexplicable offer, “Excuse me?”

“Brunch,” Isobel says. “You know, the portmanteau of breakfast and lunch.”

“Think I’m gonna be way too hungover for that,” Alex snickers.

“No, not tomorrow,” Isobel says. “Sunday. Do you wanna come to brunch with me on _Sunday?”_

“Um, I …guess. Never really been a brunch guy. And if you say ‘but you’re gay’ I’m shoving you off the couch.”

“We used to go every week,” Isobel whispers instead of taking the bait. There’s a hint of tears in her eyes, but she blinks them away. Alex might not have even noticed if he weren’t so used to doing so himself. “Me and Noah. It was our thing, every Sunday. Now Sunday comes and I just …I just …”

“I’d love to,” Alex says. He doesn’t actually want to go, not really, but Isobel’s pain is tangible, tugging insistently at his heart. And really, what’s the harm in one brunch?

Isobel presses her face against his thigh, “Thanks. It’ll be fun. I promise.”

He strokes her hair softly, “You bet.”

***

Just as he’d predicted, Alex has a hell of a hangover in the morning. He drags himself out of Isobel’s guestroom around noon, determined to actually go home today instead of sulking here longer. Not bothering to put on his prosthetic just yet, he limps through the house on his crutch in search of Isobel. He finds her in the kitchen, digging into a plate French toast covered in strawberries, banana slices and whipped cream, a large cup of coffee beside her plate. An empty setting is prepared in front of the seat next to her, a bowl of fresh fruit perfectly between it and Isobel’s plate.

“Good morning,” She grumbles, decidedly less perky than she was yesterday. Her hair is in a sloppy ponytail and she looks even more exhausted than Alex feels.

Just a little satisfied at the confirmation that aliens do, indeed, get hungover, Alex hums in return, “Morning.”

A takeout bag floats from the counter to the table and settles itself in front of the empty place setting and she mutters, “I ordered breakfast.”

“Am I ever going to be allowed to leave?” Alex asks. “Or are you just gonna keep using food to hold me captive?”

Isobel takes a long sip of her coffee, then says, “I’m a very generous hostess. No one leaves with an empty stomach.”

Stomach growling ever so rudely, Alex sits and reaches into the bag. He pulls out the containers and opens it to find an omelette stuffed with bacon and mushrooms and a side of hash browns. He snorts, both amused and annoyed, “Did you read my mind?”

She offers a weak smile, “I feel like maybe there’s _one_ small loophole for finding out what your favorite post-drinking-all-night breakfast is?”

“Is this cheddar _and_ pepper jack?” Alex asks.

“It is.”

“Then yes,” Alex says. “But for future reference maybe we should work out some kind of arrangement about when it is and isn’t okay to peek into people’s minds.”

Isobel yawns, “Deal.”

***

It’s after six when Alex finally gets home. By the time he reaches the cabin and gets comfortable—prosthetic off, a hot shower, sweats and a t-shirt on—it hits him that he forgot to pick up something for dinner. For a moment he shrugs it off, until he realizes it’s Wednesday; he does his grocery shopping on Wednesdays, something he never had a chance to do today. And Trevor’s disruption of his life has thrown things far enough out of line that he forgot to last week as well. The week before that, he’d been so preoccupied with a potential lead—that went nowhere, of course—that he’d forgotten _then_ too. He checks his kitchen thoroughly to be sure, but his stock of frozen pizzas, instant soups and lean cuisines is depleted. There isn’t even a box of macaroni and cheese left. He has enough ingredients to scrounge something together, but he’s too exhausted to put in that much effort. All he wants is to throw something in the microwave for a few minutes and then eat, not use up the last of his energy preparing anything proper, especially when he burns pretty much everything anyway. He has no idea if any of the restaurants in town will deliver this far out, either. Now doesn’t feel like the best time to find out.

He’s just about to raid the back of his pantry for an MRE—he can practically hear Isobel’s horror—when an alert begins to ring on his phone. The first of his perimeter alarms. He checks the cameras and is surprised to see Liz’s car steadily approaching. Unable to think of any reason she would come by other than some very bad news, he goes to the front porch to meet her as she pulls up.

But to Alex’s surprise, she’s all smiles as she gets out of the car and waves, “Hey!”

“Hi,” He says back slowly, unsure what to think. “What brings you all the way out here?”

Liz reaches back into the car and pulls out a takeout bag, holding it up as she announces, “Brought dinner!”

“Uh,” Alex hesitates. He hasn’t seen Liz in such a good mood in …he can’t even remember how long. Since before Rosa’s death, maybe. This can’t be a good thing. “Thanks. Doesn’t really answer my question, but thanks.”

She trots over and hands him the bag, “Take this, I gotta grab the drinks.”

“Okay,” He mutters uselessly, taking the bag inside. Uninterested in the hard kitchen chairs, he sets the bag on his coffee table and sits on the couch, setting his crutch down on the floor.

Liz strolls into the cabin, a pair of milkshakes in hand, and kicks the door shut behind her, “Milky Way Milkshake for you, Meteor Malt for me.”

“Again, thank you,” Alex replies, “but it still doesn’t answer my question.”

“Should I have called first?” Liz asks, sitting beside him.

Alex shrugs, “I mean, it would’ve been nice to get a heads up about it. Is something going on? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just fine,” Liz replies. At his raised eyebrows she adds, “Okay, well, not like totally fine. Max is still dead and Rosa’s still …a mess. And everything is crazy. But other than that, I am fine.”

“So then what brings you here?” Alex asks as they unpack the bag of food. 

Unsurprisingly, Liz has brought all of his usuals, from the Eclipse Burger exactly the way he always orders it—cheddar cheese, extra onions, no tomatoes—to the slice of Comet Cake. Though it’s hardly unusual for Liz to remember his order, the fact that she went the extra mile to bring dessert has him certain that something really is wrong. Liz isn’t the sort of person to just come out and admit it, though, so Alex may need to work it out for himself.

“I can’t just wanna see you?” Liz asks, biting into her Martian Panini. 

It’s not a good sign, her choice of meal. She usually prefers the Lunar Burger. She only ever has a panini when she feels bad about something. And it’s exactly the clue Alex needs.

He sighs, “Isobel called you, didn’t she?”

“Not …exactly …”

_“Liz.”_

“She texted me that you were on your way home,” Liz says, nibbling at a fry in a failed attempt to disarm him. 

Alex groans, “What did she tell you?”

To think he’d actually believed Isobel’s promise that she wouldn’t say a word to anyone about what happened in Santa Fe. Now he’s definitely not going to brunch with her.

“Nothing,” Liz swears. “I texted her yesterday and asked her to let me know when you left.”

“Why?”

“Maria told me that you and Michael had a fight,” Liz explains. She has another bite of her food before continuing, “Said he followed you to Santa Fe and spied on your meeting.”

“Is that all she said?” Alex questions, angrily shoving two fries into his shake and biting them almost viciously. 

Liz shakes her head, “He told her that this Trevor guy seemed creepy. Got really handsy and made you uncomfortable. Then he—Michael, I mean—followed you back to your hotel and got in your face about not telling him that Trevor is obviously your ex. Which, I don’t get, ‘cause that was just obvious.”

_“That_ obvious?” Alex asks.

As annoyed as he is that everyone so easily worked out the nature of his relationship with Trevor, he can’t help but be relieved. If that’s the version of the story Michael has given Maria—and it must be, because Maria wouldn’t have kept the truth a secret from Liz if she knew it—then Isobel was right about him feeling guilty. It means the secret will stay just that. And most importantly, it means he can salvage his and Michael’s friendship after all.

Liz shrugs, “Yeah. I’m sorry, sweetie, but I mean, it’s like Unwanted Ex-Boyfriend One-oh-one.”

He rubs his hand over his face, “And here I thought I was doing a _good_ job of hiding it.”

“You were,” Liz replies. “Until he started calling you obsessively. But that’s kinda hard to hide, so, don’t beat yourself up over it.” 

“Right, thanks,” Alex sighs.

“You wanna talk about it?” Liz asks, bringing her panini back to her lips. She’s trying very, very hard to make Alex feel normal and though he appreciates it, it’s not exactly working.

“No. Thank you.” He mutters, trying to distract himself from thoughts of Trevor by focusing on eating his cheeseburger.

“Invitation’s always open,” Liz says.

Alex responds by sipping his milkshake.

“Anyway,” Liz sighs, “Maria said Michael feels really guilty and he asked us to make sure you’re okay.”

_“Us,_ huh?” Alex mutters, a bitterness that he’s been trying to hold back seeping into his voice just a bit. He takes a deep breath, trying to reign it back in.

Liz nods, “Yeah, us. Maria called me about it but decided to sit this one out because …she feels …”

“Awkward?” Alex supplies.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know why,” Alex says, “everything’s fine. I told her it’s fine.”

“It’s okay if it’s not, though,” Liz says softly. “You know that, right?”

“But it is,” Alex replies, a little too quickly. “It’s all …fine.”

“It’s okay to be angry, Alex,” Liz says.

“I’m not mad,” Alex insists. “I already told Maria that I’m not, so I’m not.”

“Look,” Liz sighs, putting her panini down and grabbing a napkin to wipe her hands clean of its grease, “I’m trying to stay neutral in this. When Maria talks to me about things with Michael, I just listen; I don’t say anything. Same when Michael talks about Maria. If they ask me for advice, I just sort of try to shrug it off. But …I’m not gonna hold you to that standard, Alex. You’re allowed to be upset about this. About them. Even under normal circumstances I’d say that, but they went behind your back. You don’t have to pretend that’s okay.”

“The three of us made a deal,” Alex says. “When I came out. Remember? That we’d never let a boy come between our friendship.”

“I remember,” Liz replies, nodding slightly. “But in this case, if anyone broke that deal, it’s Maria. I understand that she has feelings for Michael, but she should’ve talked to you about it. And she knows that and she feels awful.”

“Then why should I be mad?” Alex asks. He’s not sure which of them he’s trying to convince, so he takes a particularly large bite of his burger to stall for time. Chews slowly, deliberately before swallowing and says, “She already feels guilty and she apologized, so …”

“So?”

Alex shrugs, “That’s it. There’s …nothing else to say about it.”

“There is if you’re still angry.”

“I can’t be angry at Maria,” Alex says with a shake of his head.

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t forgive Guerin and then _not_ forgive her.”

“Well …why _have_ you forgiven Michael?” Liz asks. “He knew everything from the start, but she didn’t know about you and him until later. If anything, he’s _guiltier.”_

“It’s different. Things have always been a mess between Guerin and me. And I, I …”

“You feel like you owe him,” Liz says. “Because of your father.”

Alex sighs, “I do owe him. The things my dad’s done, I mean, he literally—”

Liz takes hold of his hand, cutting him off, “Alex. Don’t go there. You are _not_ your father. Nothing he’s done is your responsibility and if Michael feels that way, he doesn’t deserve you. Not even as a friend.”

Alex shakes his head, “Liz, there’s so much more to it …I …”

He trails off, unsure what to say. Where could he even begin? The toolshed? No, he can’t possibly tell Liz about that. The only person he’s ever told about that is Trevor, and he’d been so drunk he barely remembers it. He could tell her about how he’d avoided Michael at graduation, using all of his willpower to not let himself even look at him. How he’d kept his enlistment a secret and never had the courage to go and say goodbye. She’d probably understand that when she’d done the same thing after Rosa’s death. But it might upset her to think about those days. She might hear the tale and remember how the two of them didn’t get a formal goodbye either. Even if she’d tried to see him, Alex’s father had brought him to the Courage Center the day after the toolshed incident and he’d spent a week being _treated_ there. Liz was long gone by the time he came back. He doesn’t want to get into any of that.

He could tell her about the letters he sent—addressed to the Evans’s house, certain Max would pass them along—that Michael never bothered to answer. And how Alex spent years being too dumb to just take the hint. But that might have the same result, reminding her of the letters she never answered either. Alex doesn’t want to make her feel bad about that; she had too much going on in her life to bother with him. And he’s not upset about it, all these years later. He’s not. Just like he’s not upset with Maria or Michael. He can’t be. He won’t be.

“There’s just _so much,”_ He sighs.

“Okay,” Liz says, “I’m sure there is. And you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But you’re still not your dad. You don’t need to pay for what he’s done, Alex. And you have every right to be upset about what’s been done to _you.”_

“They fell in love and that’s it. Who am I to stand in their way?”

“Telling them how you feel—and that they _hurt_ you—isn’t getting in their way,” Liz responds. “It’s just being honest. They’re adults and they should know the harm their actions caused. Where they go from there is up to them. And if I’m being totally honest, I don’t think they're really in love at all.”

“Why would you say that?”

Liz shrugs, “Half the time they just fight. And the other they’re overcompensating because they’re _desperate_ to convince themselves they work together. But they totally don’t.” She’s surprisingly flippant about it, and takes another bite of her panini before saying, “I’m betting they’ll be over before the year is up.”

“Don’t say that, Liz,” Alex implores. “I know you’re trying to help, but _please_ don’t say that. I don’t wanna be that person.”

“What person?” Liz asks.

Alex sighs, “The one who sits around all bitter and hopes that someone else’s relationship doesn’t work out just because mine didn’t.”

“You know, for someone who claims he left ‘nice’ back in the Middle East, you’re an awfully nice person.”

“It’s not being nice,” Alex insists. “It’s just …mature. That’s what adults do, right?”

Liz nods, “Sure, maybe. But it’s also adult to admit when something is bothering you instead of keeping it all bottled up.”

“I don’t wanna be mad, Liz,” Alex admits. He blinks back the tears that have been trying to fall since the moment he saw Michael and Maria kiss. Since the moment he saw her necklace in his hand, if he’s being totally honest; he knew then that he didn’t stand a chance, he just wasn’t ready to admit it. “I don’t wanna lose them. I love them, I want them to be _happy.”_

He does. He really does. He wants to be happy _for_ them. _Is_ happy for them. And he’ll keep being happy for them. When they get through this rough patch Liz seems to think they’ve hit. When they celebrate their first anniversary. When Maria begins showing off the inevitable engagement ring. If and when any kids are born. He’ll be happy for them. He’ll smile and congratulate them and be happy. Because if he isn’t, then what kind of person is he? His father’s kind of person.

He cannot, will not be that kind of person, “I’m happy for them.”

“No you’re not,” Liz says. There’s no judgment in her voice. She’s speaking plainly and calmly, as simply as telling him he’s not a blonde.

“Liz—”

“You once told me I was being a crappy friend,” she interrupts. “And you were right. And I’m doing it again, except this time, _you’re_ the one I’m being crappy to.”

She holds her hand out to silence him when he tries to argue.

“I miss Max. I’ll do just about anything to get him back. But I’m also so glad to have Rosa back and I’m trying to work on things with her; you know, she’s not all that happy about me being so close with the people who covered up her death. All this shit just happened at once, and it was— _is_ —a lot to deal with. So when I first found out about Maria and Michael being together, I thought Maria’d talked to you already. That’s what I’d told her to do when she said she was starting to feel things for Michael.”

Liz pauses there and shakes her head. Alex isn’t sure if he ought to speak yet. Sometimes he can’t tell if she’s done or just gathering her thoughts, so he waits it out.

She continues after a minute, “I was so mad at her when she told me she went behind your back. She was crying about it, she felt so bad. So I told her to talk to you. And that was it. I just assumed the two of you would work it out. I wanted to think you would, because I didn’t wanna deal with anything but Max and Rosa. And I’m sorry.”

“Liz, it’s a lot to—”

“It’s no excuse. That’s what you’d say to me if I pulled this on anyone else. And you’d be right. I’ve had plenty of opportunities to talk to you about this and I haven’t.”

“You’re staying neutral,” Alex reminds her.

“I can still do that,” Liz replies. “I can be happy for Maria and Michael and still be mad at them on your behalf. I can do _both._ Kyle should not be the only person who’s even bothered to ask if you’re okay.”

Now _that_ had been a hell of a night. Alex had told exactly no one about his discovery of the new, happy couple, even after offering both of them his blessing. He hadn’t seen any reason to. They’d do that themselves, as couples often do. At least, that’s Alex’s understanding of couples; he’s never been in a proper relationship—not counting his destructive affair with Trevor—so he wouldn’t really know how they actually work. But it seems that Kyle had spotted the pair holding hands at an early “Max meeting” and worked things out for himself. He showed up at the cabin that evening with pizza and beer. Lots of beer. And gotten so drunk that he went on a series of very long rants. First about how disappointed he was in Maria, but not surprised.

“I should’ve known she’s a lousy friend, she never even said _shit_ to me when I picked on you,” he’d declared through a mouthful of pizza. Which was only true while he and Liz were dating; before and after, she’d been quick to tell Kyle to piss off whenever he gave Alex a hard time. Alex did not feel the need to make the distinction at the moment. “After everything you’ve done for her, all the times you’ve been there, she picked her _crush_ over your decade of feelings? A _crush_ over _you?”_

A few more drinks in and Kyle started in on Michael, rage in full force, “You go out of your way for him—you risk your damn _life_ for him—and _this_ is how he repays you? He was _so_ high and mighty at Caulfield; what do we need _him_ for, you got amnesia? Pretending to be all _protective_ and acting all _jealous_ that you and me were working together. And then he’s got the nerve, the fucking _gall_ to go fuck around with _Maria?_ Of _all people?_ Your _best friend?”_

Alex did not—does not—believe that Michael had been pretending anything when he’d attempted to keep the group from separating at Caulfield, but he did not feel the need to point that out.

Eventually Kyle got to his feet, pacing out his anger, “He’s always so fucking full of himself. Smug, self-righteous asshole. Acting like he’s never done shit but always ripping into everyone else. Who the _fuck_ does he think he is? He treats _everyone_ like crap, he’s _always_ playing the victim. He covered up a _murder_ and he gives _Liz_ shit over making the serum? He broke into her house and threatened to _kill_ her and he _still_ acted like _she_ was the one who needed to prove herself! You want me to deck him? Cause I will. I’ll slip him the pollen and I’ll knock some freaking teeth out if you want. He doesn’t get to treat you like this.”

Alex had declined the offer politely and let Kyle burn himself out. He'd certainly had plenty to say. To this day Alex isn’t entirely sure what sparked such an intense reaction from him—overcompensation for high school, is the only answer he can come up with—but watching it had certainly cheered him up a bit. Made it easier to get through the early lovey-dovey phase of Michael and Maria’s relationship. It makes him smile just a little to think about it, brings an amused chuckle out of him. But for some reason he can’t fathom, it’s only bringing him to tears tonight.

“Fuck,” He buries his face in his hands, trying to get himself under control.

Liz rubs his back lightly, “I’m sorry, Alex.”

“She wouldn’t have done it to you,” He whispers.

“What?”

He sniffs, trying to keep the sudden crying under control, and looks at her, “She wouldn’t have done it to you. If, if it was Max …I don’t think she’d have made the same choice. And I, I don’t _want_ her to’ve. I don’t want that at all. But she _wouldn’t_ have _done_ that to _you.”_

Liz doesn’t answer with words. She neither confirms nor denies what they both know is true. She just scoots closer, wraps her arms around him and rests her head against his shoulder. They don’t move or speak for a long while. They don’t have to.

***

Liz winds up spending the night, pressed against Alex in his bed like when they were kids. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Alex wonders if Arturo allowed it because he knew about Alex or if he just trusted them that much. The former, he suspects, given how obvious it had apparently been. In the morning, Alex throws together a pile of pancakes that are somehow burnt _and_ runny at the same time and Liz teases him endlessly over his lack of culinary ability. She still eats two of them. Before leaving, she hugs him tight and kisses him and reminds him that her offer to talk about Trevor still stands, any time he wants. He thanks her and replies that he just really needs a little time to himself and would _really_ appreciate it if she could try to see to it that no one shows up unannounced today. She promises to do her best.

“I yelled at Michael,” she says, standing at her open car door. “He didn’t even try to argue.”

Alex tries to force a laugh, “First time for everything, right?”

Liz’s smile is just as fake as his laugh, “Yeah.”

He waves her off as she gets into the car and pulls away. When he goes back inside, he leans against the door with a heavy sigh and begins to decompress. It’s been a long, strange few days. He has a lot to think about. Like what he’s going to say to Michael when they inevitably discuss the matter. And how to answer the handful of texts—mostly from Kyle—waiting for his response. Wondering why he’s suddenly dropped off the face of the Earth. Eventually, he decides on a half truth.

_Kidnapped by alien. Forcibly repaid for doing my job._

Kyle’s response comes in quickly and accurately, _Isobel?_

_I think she’s claimed me as her gay bff. Am scared. Got the thing tho._

_Meet for lunch?_

_Tomorrow. Need sleep today. Too much Isobel._

He checks his email after that, glad to see that after a brief dry spell he has several job requests. All three look simple enough, jobs he can likely handle from home in a matter of days. It’ll be good for him to concentrate on something normal for a little while, he thinks. And he could sure use the extra income after spending so much to appease Trevor. Trevor, who also messaged him twice over the last few days. 

_Had a great time, bunny. Can’t wait to do it again._

_Your cowboy dropped by. I’m not impressed._

Alex deletes them both. No need to hold onto them; he’s done with Trevor for good this time, no matter what else he tries to pull. He replies to a message from Isobel, confirming that they’re still on for Sunday. The one from Maria asking if he’s alright, he’ll save for later. Petty, maybe, but he’s _not_ alright, frankly, and he isn’t up for faking anything right now. Instead he writes out a grocery list and does his morning exercise routine, which he’d neglected while Isobel held him hostage. 

Doing so reminds him of yet another promise he’d made to Isobel, while she was bragging about her new trainor. After he’d commented that her so-called trainor specialized less in self-defense and more in “overcharging uppity white women for style and not substance,” she’d demanded he prove he could do better. Fortunately, he’d been sober enough to realize that a physical demonstration of how she’s not learning as much as she thinks she is was a bad idea. _Unfortunately,_ Isobel had _insisted_ that he do so at a later date. An insistence she’d reminded him of before he left. It’s not an entirely bad idea, really. It would certainly benefit her to know how to _actually_ protect herself beyond a flashy set of moves that won’t help against more than a common mugger. And it may help her emotionally, to shed those feelings of helplessness and work out her pains. If Isobel really wants to grow, she’s going to need someone who isn’t afraid of breaking her. Which, he thinks, is maybe why Liz and Kyle seem to be doing wonders for her. So he jots down the beginnings of a proper training regimine for her and vaguely wonders if she’ll follow through or call it quits on him.

It takes a few days, but Alex gets back on track. Does his grocery shopping. Takes his meds. Starts on one of the jobs he’d accepted. Eats right. Drinks plenty of water. Takes his clothes to the laundromat. Goes to lunch and has a normal, non-alien related conversation with Kyle. Does his workout. Doesn’t think about Trevor. Texts his friends back when they check in on him. Finally responds to Maria. Writes out a list of things he'd like to say to her someday, about both his pain and his hopes of repairing the rift. Finishes the job he’d started. Sleeps. Prepares to start the next job. He’s doing well. He’s organized and composed again. The whole thing is behind him.

Until early Saturday morning, when he gets a text from Michael.

_Can we talk?_

Alex’s heart does a backflip as he thinks about what happened the last time Michael asked him that. He reminds himself firmly that this is nothing like that day. They’re not kids at the museum anymore. And Michael is in a committed relationship. With one of Alex’s closest friends. He wants to talk about Santa Fe and nothing more. That’s it. And Alex can handle that. He can. Really. 

So he takes a deep breath and texts back, _Want me to meet you?_

He tosses the phone aside, determined to not stare at it anxiously awaiting Michael’s response. He opens his laptop and goes over everything he thinks he’ll need to start the next job. Forces himself to wait at least sixty seconds after the reply comes in to even look at his phone.

_It ok if i come to you?_

The panic that that question sends through him is entirely irrational and unwanted. There’s no reason for it to worry him. Based on what Alex has been told, Michael feels guilty about what he said in Santa Fe. It’s only natural, then, that he’d try to be considerate and be the one to make the annoyingly long drive so they can talk about it. There’s nothing else to it. It’s definitely not a situation where he has bad news to give and wants to do it at Alex’s house so he can just excuse himself and leave once it’s delivered. Alex isn’t concerned about that in the slightest.

_When?_

_Now?_

_Okay._

_I’m on my way_

All things considered, Alex has been doing a good job keeping his cool throughout this conversation. Now that Michael is actually coming over and he suddenly has an hour of nothing but waiting to do, he’s starting to freak out a little. Just a little. Not too much, just enough that he needs to get up and start pacing about the cabin. He forces himself to sit back down and try to get some work done. He can barely focus, but he manages to get through ten minutes before he almost messes up what he’s working on and realizes he definitely can’t do this right now. He decides to busy himself by dusting the shelves even though he did that yesterday and they don’t need it again. Cleans the mirror in his bathroom. The windows. Sweeps the kitchen floor.

Alex kills forty minutes cleaning things before he realizes he has no idea what he’s going to say. How much should he tell Michael about Trevor? Everything? Just the basics? Or maybe nothing, maybe he should do what Isobel had suggested right before he left; tell Michael flat out he’ll get the story if and when Alex is ever ready to give it. It’s a tempting idea, but he knows he’ll never go through with it. So he writes out a list of details he feels comfortable sharing about his history with Trevor. Simple things, like how and when they met. Some of the places they went and things they did together, the way Trevor tried to mold him into the kind of partner _he_ wanted. How long it lasted before Alex finally left. All the other times Trevor's called him endlessly before this one. He adds in the relevant details, like how he’d told Trevor clearly that he wants nothing more to do with him. The things Trevor had told him about his time with Project Shepherd. 

By the time he has his list finished, it’s been exactly an hour since Michael told him he was on his way. He reads it over for a few minutes, satisfied with what he has. As his proximity alarm starts to ring, he goes to the kitchen and guzzles a glass of water. He considers opening a beer, but decides he’d rather be sober for this conversation. Instead, he shoves a bag of popcorn into the microwave and puts on a pot of coffee. The popcorn has thirty seconds left when Michael knocks on the door. Taking one last steadying breath, Alex heads over to open the door.

Michael looks exactly as bad as Isobel had told him. He doesn’t seem like he’s been sleeping well at all, his hat casting a sad shadow over his face. He’s shifting uncomfortably and forces himself to look Alex in the eye, “Hi.”

“Hey,” Alex says, keeping his voice even.

“I, um,” Michael shifts again, then holds up a six pack, “I brought you this.”

“It’s ten in the morning,” Alex replies.

“Uh, yeah. I know. I just …” Michael shrugs, then shakes his head. “I didn’t know what else to …”

Alex steps aside, “Coming in?”

Michael rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, “Yeah. Thanks.” He takes a few hesitant steps into the cabin, then removes his hat and places it delicately on the hook by the door. He looks at Alex and says, “Um, thanks …for letting me come by.”

Closing the door, Alex nods, “Sure.”

He walks back into the kitchen, gesturing for Michael to follow. He nods toward one of the chairs at the table and pulls the bag of popcorn from the still beeping microwave. Dumping it into a large bowl, he places it in the middle of the table and sits across from Michael, who—having set the beer down on the chair next to him—is busying himself fidgeting with the bandana wrapped around his healed hand. Alex might never get used to that sight; Michael's hand, perfect and unscarred. Not a trace of either Jesse’s wrath or Alex’s weakness to be found. It’s a relief to see, to know that Michael is finally free of their past.

“I’m sorry,” Michael blurts, practically shouting. His eyes are glued to the table.

Alex says nothing. Part of him wants to just forgive Michael here and now. The part of him that would rather die than to ever see Michael in pain. But the part of him that’s still hurt—still reeling from that horrible accusation—keeps him silent. The wound is still open and raw, and two words aren’t going to close it.

With a slow, deep exhale, Michael finally looks at him and repeats, “I’m sorry. What I said the other day, I …I shouldn’t have said it.”

Alex says nothing.

“You’re trying to save Max,” Michael goes on. “You’ve done nothing but help my family and I should’ve been thanking you instead of cutting into you like that. I had no right to react that way. I was wrong, I was a total asshole. I had no right to accuse you of …of …”

_“Using_ you?”

Michael flinches, his voice weak, “Yeah.” 

“That hurt, Michael,” Alex admits. “You really, _really_ hurt me when you said that.”

“I know. And I’m sorry.”

Alex shakes his head, trying to keep himself under control. “I know I hurt you when I left. And I am _sorry_ for that, it was _never_ my intention. It _killed_ me to walk away, _every time._ I understand you still being angry, but to just, just accuse me of _using_ you? How could you—”

“I didn’t mean it!” Michael exclaims. “I swear, Alex, I didn’t mean a _word_ of it.”

“Then why did you say it?”

“I …” Michael hesitates. Swallows. Starts again, “I don’t know. I know you deserve a real explanation, but I don’t have one. I don’t know why I said that, Alex. But I didn’t mean it. Any of it. And I’m so, _so_ sorry.”

He looks sorry. He’s acting sorry. And Alex believes him. He does. But Michael being sorry doesn’t quite take the hurt away. Doesn’t give Alex back the elation he’d felt at _finally_ getting the last word in over Trevor Teave. So instead of replying, he stands and grabs two mugs from his cabinet. Fills them both with coffee and sets one on the table. He dumps three spoonfuls of sugar into his own before sitting back down.

“You usually have it black, right?” Alex asks. He can’t recall ever seeing Michael add anything to his coffee, but he could be wrong.

That quiet, shame-filled expression never leaving his face, Michael nods, “Strong flavors taste better to us.”

“I didn’t know that,” Alex replies, stirring his coffee and not looking at him.

Gathering all his courage, Michael reaches out and lightly grasps Alex’s hand. Relieved when, instead of pulling away, Alex just glances up at him, he says, “I’m sorry.”

“You said that.”

“I’ll keep saying it. I’ll say it every day until I die, Alex. I’m sorry. I know you’d never do anything to hurt me on purpose. You were always sincere and I’ve got no right to question that,” Michael says.

“I never wanted you anywhere near my dad,” Alex whispers.

“I know. I was wrong to say that. All of it. I know you didn’t wanna sleep with that guy and even if you did it’s none of my business. I was wrong to get mad and I’m an idiot and I never should’ve said that and I’m sorry. I don’t even know where any of it came from.”

“How can you not know where it came from?” Alex asks.

“It was …it was like it was just _there_ all of a sudden. But I still shouldn’t have said it, and I really am sorry. I swear, Alex. I swear on my mother’s soul, I didn’t mean a word of it.”

Alex is quiet for a moment. That’s not something Michael would ever say lightly, he knows. He never wants to talk about his mother. There’s no way he would bring her into this if he didn’t mean every word. He nods once, “I believe you.”

“I’d give anything to take it back,” Michael says. “I really would.”

“I believe you,” Alex says again.

Michael opens his mouth, then closes. Pauses for a second, then asks softly, “Are you okay?”

Alex sighs, “I’ll get over it. We’re okay, Guerin.”

“Not that,” Michael says. “I mean are you _okay?_ After he—”

“Don’t,” Alex interrupts. “Don’t go there. I already had this conversation with Isobel. Twice. That’s not what it was. It was just business. I agreed to it.”

“You had no choice.”

“I could’ve said no,” Alex insists.

“But you wouldn’t have. Because that’d mean letting Max die and you’d never do that. We all know it. And I think Trevor knew that too.”

“You’re making too big a deal of it, Guerin,” Alex says.

“Too big a deal? Alex, he _blackmailed_ you into sleeping with him! He r—”

“Stop!” Alex shouts, pulling his hand free. He shakes his head, “It, it wasn’t …that. Okay? It _wasn’t.”_

He stares down into his coffee. He doesn’t want to hear that word. Doesn’t want to think about it that way. It was his choice. A mission. He’d accepted it and carried it out and reaped the reward. They have a new fragment. They’re another step closer to saving Max. Him having to perform certain acts against his will is just part of the job. It’s not the first time he’s had to do something he didn’t want to for a mission. Just because this time it involved using himself as a negotiating tool doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t make him a victim. It doesn’t.

Michael takes his hand again, “Alex …”

“I don’t wanna talk about this anymore,” Alex declares. “You came to apologize and you did, and I accept it. So that’s it. We don’t need to talk about it anymore.”

Michael doesn’t agree with that assessment. Not one bit. There’s a lot more to talk about. He has so many questions he wants to ask, so many details he needs to know. But Alex is obviously in no mood to give them, and Michael isn’t going to push his luck today. It’s a miracle he’s even gotten this far after the stunt he pulled the other day. 

So he nods, “Okay. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed it.”

“Forget it,” Alex whispers so quietly Michael has to strain to hear him. He takes a deep breath, glances around to regain his bearing and asks, “Do you know how many pieces are left of the console?”

“Yeah,” Michael replies. “It’s finished.”

“It’s _finished?”_ Alex asks. “I thought there were more pieces missing?”

Michael shakes his head, “Not pieces, exactly. More like …slivers. Cracks, basically. That was the last actual _piece._ And once I put it into place, the cracks all just …filled in.” 

“They just closed?”

“Like bad CGI, man. They just came together and sealed,” Michael says. He sighs, “Now all that’s left is for me and Liz to finish tweaking her antidote. With a little luck, we’ll finally be able to kickstart Max’s dumb ass back to life pretty soon.”

“That’s amazing,” Alex comments.

And it explains why Liz felt the need to go the extra mile for him the other day. Not just because she’s a good friend, but because she wanted to thank him. Outside of the lab—of reworking her antidote into something of an elixir for the Pod Squad—she can’t do much to help Max. Keeping Michael focused and Isobel sane, perhaps. But the rest—obtaining the information on their biology from Project Shepherd and the fragments of the console—had been out of her hands. They were mostly Alex’s jobs and Liz hates feeling like she can’t help. Now that they have the equipment they need and the rest is up to her doing what she does best, she probably feels more secure about it all. More in control. Alex understands that feeling perfectly.

“You must be so relieved,” He says.

“Yeah …”

“What’s wrong?”

Michael sighs, “You did this.”

“Did what?”

_“This,”_ Michael says. “All of this. We’d never’ve gotten this far without you.”

“Okay. Is that a _bad_ thing?” Alex asks.

_“No,”_ Michael’s almost offended at the question. “I just …”

This time it’s Alex squeezing Michael’s hand, “Hey, it’s okay. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“You did all of this for us,” Michael explains. “And I know you don’t wanna talk about it anymore, but you did … _that_ for us, too. And instead of _thanking_ you, I was a total dick.”

“Guerin—”

“You’ve done _so much_ for us, Alex. Stuff you really don’t have to do. And I never thank you,” Michael laments. 

“You don’t have to,” Alex assures him. “Max’s life depends on it.”

Michael scoffs, “You don’t even _like_ Max.”

“Okay, _that’s_ not true. I like Max just fine.”

“You haven’t spoken to him since high school,” Michael counters.

“I didn’t say we were besties, Guerin. And even if I didn’t like him, I’m not just gonna let the guy die.”

“I can’t repay you,” Michael says. “For any of this.”

“I’m not doing this so you’d owe me,” Alex replies. “It’s just the right thing to do.”

He’s not about to let Michael lose another member of his family. Or Liz. Or Isobel. There are too many good people who will suffer if Max can’t be saved. Alex is going to save him if he has to trade his own life to do it.

“You always say that,” Michael mutters.

“Say what?” Alex asks.

Michael huffs, “You don’t owe me, Guerin. It’s the right thing, Guerin. I don’t want anything, Guerin. I don’t have an agenda, Guerin.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that was a bad thing,” Alex retorts. “I didn’t know it was such a crime to wanna help people.”

“That’s not what I—”

“What _do_ you mean, Guerin? Why is it so wrong that I want to _help_ you?”

“I can’t _repay_ you,” Michael says again, shaking his head.

“I don’t _want_ you to,” Alex insists.

“Why not? No one is this nice without expecting something in return.”

“I don’t want anything from you, Michael. I just want you to have your family back. And Liz and Isobel—”

“You don’t like Isobel,” Michael interrupts. “You _told_ me you don’t like her.”

He’d been quite clear on that, in fact. The same day he’d given Michael the console piece Jim Valenti had hidden for him. Michael hadn’t taken it well, and he’s not proud of it, either.

***

“So you just had this for _months?”_ He’d questioned. Alex had brought him the piece one afternoon, the day after Michael and Liz had revealed they’d developed a plan to resurrect Max that required the console.

“I’m sorry,” Alex replied, “I was going to give it to you, I just …”

“What the hell were you waiting for, Alex?” Michael demanded. “What, was this your way of being spiteful? About Maria?”

“No!” Alex insisted. “Of course not! It had nothing to do with that!”

“I think it did. I bet if we didn’t need this to save Max, you’d have kept it for good. I think you’re pissed that for once, _you’re_ not in control of things.”

“What?” Alex asked, at a loss. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Everything’s gotta be _your_ way, _all_ the time. Doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks, long as you’re happy.”

“Guerin, that’s not—”

Michael didn’t let him finish, “It’s just like that time with Isobel. You couldn’t even handle being around my damn _sister—”_

“Isobel is a _bitch!”_

Startled by the outburst, Michael paused, then asked, “Excuse me?”

“You, you heard me,” Alex replied. “She’s a bitch. Not in the good way, either. She’s a spoiled brat and you and Max coddled her so much her whole life she’s now incapable of existing independently. I’m no therapist, but the codependency between you three is literally off the charts.”

“Fuck you.”

“No fuck _you,”_ Alex snapped. “She didn’t deserve what happened to her but it doesn’t absolve her of her own shit. She’s a bitch and a bully and I can’t stand her anymore than you can stand Kyle. And I’m not gonna pretend otherwise. Why _should_ I? Maria doesn’t have to. She talks shit about Isobel all the time and you don’t give a damn, why do _I_ have to be extra nice to your little princess?”

“You don’t even _know_ her, Alex,” Michael insisted.

“No, _you_ don’t know her,” Alex countered. “You don’t know what it’s like to be someone she looks down on. Trust me, Guerin, she’s a _very_ different person with the rest of us. And if you weren’t her family, she’d be that way with you too.”

“You know what,” Michael said, “I think this is just your way of covering your own ass. You’re trying to rip into Isobel to make yourself feel better because _you_ wouldn’t know _loyalty_ if it hit you in the face. She’s more trustworthy than _you’ll_ ever be! All _you_ know how to do is walk away and hide things. You’re just jealous that Iz and Max and me would do anything for each other, and you don’t have the guts to be like that!”

Alex had stayed quiet through Michael’s entire tirade. Waited calmly for him to finish, then said, “You’re right, Guerin. You three _would_ do anything for each other. Including framing an innocent little girl for her own murder.”

“I …” Michael didn’t have a response to that. “That …”

“And,” Alex went on, “letting said little girl’s family suffer for a decade over it. Let them be turned into the town pariahs. Threaten her sister’s life even though she’s never been anything but nice to you. Even though the only reason she found out was because _you_ got her shot.”

“That wasn’t our fault!” Michael insisted. “That was Wyatt!”

“Yeah,” Alex nodded, “Wyatt pulled the trigger. But you three? You loaded the gun.”

Michael stood in silence for a minute, trying desperately to come up with a retort.

When he found none, Alex continued, “I’m sorry that I kept this piece from you. I was wrong. I should’ve given it to you the moment I found out what it was. If you want to leave this planet, I don’t have the right to stop you, no matter how badly I want you to stay. And I do. The thought of you leaving is …I don’t want you to go. That’s not my choice, though, especially not after everything I’ve done. But I couldn’t let you leave Maria like that. _She_ deserves better.”

“Alex—”

“That doesn’t make it okay, though. I had no right to make that decision for you. Just for the record though, I brought it with me the day after the storm. I was gonna give it to you then. Maybe if you’d bothered to show up, this conversation could’ve gone a little differently.”

Alex had left then, with tears in his eyes and not another word. 

***

Michael _really_ isn’t proud of that day. And he’s especially not proud that _Alex_ was the one to apologize for it. Because Alex is right. It _is_ their fault Liz was shot. No matter what reasons they had, it was still their fault. They’d destroyed Rosa’s legacy, left Arturo to deal with the fallout, almost gotten Liz killed and then he and Isobel had to go and threaten her on top of it all. Liz deserved better than that.

That was bad enough, but hearing Alex admit in no uncertain terms that he wanted Michael to stay? Seeing him with tears in his eyes over Michael? He’d processed all of it in his usual way; too much alcohol and too much acetone. He doesn’t know why he’s bringing it up now, except, perhaps, because he’s amazing at stuffing his foot in his mouth.

To his surprise, Alex shrugs, “I don’t. But that doesn’t mean I want her to lose Max. She’s going through enough right now. And I may have …finally met the Isobel _you_ know. So …”

“I’m sorry,” Michael sighs. “I don’t know why I’m being such an asshole. Again.”

“Withdrawal?”

Michael laughs, “Ouch.”

Alex shrugs again, not saying anything.

“I really am sorry, Alex,” Michael says again.

“Forget it,” Alex replies, shaking his head. He’s not entirely sure he forgives him just yet, but he hates the way he keeps apologizing. Alex has always hated when people apologize to him. It makes him feel …wrong. Better to just accept it and move along than to dwell on hurt feelings, right?

“If you won’t let me repay you, will you at least join me for a drink?” Michael asks, tugging two bottles from the pack he’d brought with him.

Alex snickers, “It’s not even eleven.”

Michael shrugs, “Five somewhere, right?”

“You know what,” Alex laughs, “fine. Give me a damn beer.”

They move to the living room and drink in silence. Finally start on that damn popcorn Alex made for reasons he’s still not entirely sure of. It’s nice.

“I went to see him,” Michael says, eyes on his bottle.

“Max?”

Michael shakes his head, “Trevor. You were right. He laughed at me.”

“I told you he would.”

“That guy’s a real asshole,” Michael remarks, as though Alex isn’t fully aware of that already. “What the hell did he do to make you go out with him?”

“He didn’t _make_ me, Guerin,” Alex replies. “I was …young.”

“Yeah, and he took advantage of you!”

“Guerin, do you want to hear this or not?”

Michael shrinks a bit in his seat, “Sorry.”

Alex clears his throat, “Anyway. I was young. He was …charming. And handsome. And he seemed to know everything. It was overwhelming and I …got caught up in it all. This _whirlwind_ of chivalry and extravagance and …I did not know how to handle it. So I just went with it all. He …he made me feel special, I guess.”

He’s surprised at how easy it is to tell Michael all of this. He thought it would be an awful, embarrassing experience. Instead, it almost feels good. Michael listens without judgment. He’s patient, asks the occasional question. Alex thinks he knows that he’s leaving out certain details, but he doesn’t push the matter. He just lets Alex talk and for once, Alex feels like the wounds Trevor left behind might heal after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I just have one last thing I need to say this week. 
> 
> If you're in the US and eligible to vote, please make sure you're registered and vote for Biden in November (or October if you're voting by mail!) I know a lot of people think "but he sucks too!" and yeah, he does, but do you really want more of _this_? I don't want to be that person who throws politics at you when you're just here for fun, but I am legitimately afraid of where things are headed and have been for years, but especially now that Ruth Bader Ginsburg is gone it is critical that Biden wins and the senate gets flipped.
> 
> Anyway, again, hope you all liked the chapter!


	24. plenty of time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group tries to determine how to proceed after subduing Teave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sunday update this week instead! lol Carrying on after Chapter Fifteen, "saline". Please comment if you like it! :)
> 
> Warnings: sexual content, discussions of abuse and homophobia, Alex's continued attempts to minimize his trauma.

Alex opens his eyes slowly. There’s a dull ache throughout his body that’s fading away as his consciousness returns. He blinks away the blurriness of his vision and his surroundings come into view; for reasons he can’t even begin to work out, he’s in Max’s living room. Flat on his back on the couch. Max is leaning over him, sweating and panting like he’s just run a marathon. Alex has never seen him look so pained before. Liz comes into view over Max’s shoulder and helps him lower himself to the floor, concerned eyes darting between him and Alex as she does. Kyle appears next, a black eye forming and a split lip on his worried face.

“Are you okay?” he asks, holding a hand out to help Alex sit up.

“I think so,” Alex replies. He takes the outstretched hand and lets Kyle pull him upright. “What …what’s going on?”

Kyle rests one hand on Alex’s shoulder and looks him up and down as though checking for any sign of injury, “Damn, Evans, that really is cool.”

“Max healed me?” Alex asks. He glances down at Max, still sitting on the floor. Liz is rubbing his back while he slowly sips nail polish remover, the way one might sip ginger ale to calm a stomach ache. 

“Do you remember what happened?” Kyle asks, sitting beside him on the couch.

“I …” Alex pauses to think it over. It comes back in a flash all at once and he startles, “Trevor! Where is he? Did he get away? Where’re Michael and Isobel? Are they—”

“Everyone’s fine,” Liz assures him. She reaches out and squeezes his knee gently. “They’re at the cave, putting Trevor in stasis.”

“Teave,” Max corrects, still breathless.

“How did you stop him?” Alex asks, recalling that last moment when Kyle was fighting Teave.

“I didn’t,” Kyle admits, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “That guy is scary tough. I just held him off long enough for Iz to come to. Without his powers she had the advantage.”

“They called me to come and get you guys,” Liz adds. “Brought you back here while Isobel and Michael took care of Teave.”

“But the car flipped, didn’t it?” Alex questions. He looks at Max, “How’re you and Michael fine?”

“Michael thinks his powers cushioned him subconsciously,” Max explains. “I’m guessing Teave did the same for himself. And _I’m_ fine because I wear my fucking _seatbelt.”_

“You’re not _fine,_ Max,” Liz scolds. “You got hurt too! But he’s right, what the hell were you thinking, Alex?”

Alex shrugs, “It …slipped my mind.”

“You’re lucky,” Kyle says, “it could’ve been a lot worse.”

“Are we really talking about this? Don’t we have more important things to talk about?” Alex asks. “Not to sound ungrateful or anything, but why’d you bring me back here to heal me? Why not just do it there?”

“Iz used too much of her power to take Teave down,” Kyle replies. “It put too much strain on her and her heart stopped. Max healed her first but then he needed to rest before he could heal you too.”

Alex nods, “Right. Makes sense. Thanks.”

Max takes another sip of acetone, “Don’t mention it. Also you might have a handprint on your chest for a few days, just so you know.”

“Right,” Alex nods again.

“So,” Kyle sighs, looking at Liz, “any theories on why the serum didn’t work on him?”

“It wasn’t the serum,” Alex answers. “He swapped it out on me months ago. Apparently I injected him with saline.”

“So he _can_ read minds,” Max comments.

“Yeah,” Alex confirms. “There’s no telling what he knows about us. Everything, probably. I’m so sorry, guys, I should’ve seen this coming.”

“Dude,” Max groans, “don’t. We’ve all had this conversation with Isobel five hundred times, don’t you start too.”

“He’s right, Alex,” Liz agrees. “No one could’ve seen this coming. And, and for all you know you _did_ get suspicious and he Jedi mind-tricked you into ignoring it.”

Alex knows Liz intended the suggestion to be a comforting one, but it’s anything but. Because although it’s plausible, he knows that’s not the case. He’d always suspected that the pair that attempted to kidnap Michael years ago had allowed him to escape. Now that he knows that it was Teave, he’s completely certain of it. But he can’t understand why. Teave could’ve easily stopped him from getting away. He could’ve gone after Michael again at any point over the decade. He could’ve killed Alex if he wanted revenge for his interference. Maybe even brainwashed Alex into doing his dirty work for him, just for the sadistic satisfaction of it. He could’ve done _anything._ But he didn’t.

He took the time to impersonate a human, an Air Force officer. He infiltrated Alex’s life slowly. Earned his trust, his friendship. Made him feel comfortable around him. Seduced and wooed him. He took the time and effort to get into Alex’s mind _without_ using his powers. And it doesn’t make any sense to him. It can’t possibly just be about revenge. Teave is petty, but he wouldn’t waste so many years on Earth over what happened that night. There’s something else to it, he just needs to figure out what.

“So what do we do now?” Liz asks.

“Can you make more of the serum?” Max wonders. “He could’ve tampered with all of it and we’d have no way to know.”

Liz nods, “Yeah. I’ll do that. Then what?”

“We should make a list,” Kyle suggests. “Of everything you want to know from him. And maybe you three should take a few days to see if you start remembering anything.”

Max looks at Liz, “Do you think—”

“I’ll cook up more of the antidote too,” Liz cuts him off. “But we need to be careful with that, whether it helps your memory or not. Too much of anything can turn into poison.”

“That’s fair,” Max says, carefully pulling himself onto the couch. 

With an exhausted sigh, Liz gets to her feet, “Guess I’d better get started. You guys want a ride back?”

“Yeah,” Kyle accepts, standing as well. “Seeing as how my car is still at the junkyard.”

“Alex?” Liz asks.

Before Alex can reply, Max—as though his mind suddenly went offline and restarted in an instant—announces, “Iz and Michael are on their way back. You can stay here if you want, and wait for them. I’m sure they both wanna know you’re okay.”

Alex nods, “Thanks.”

“Are you sure you’re okay, Alex?” Liz asks.

“I’m not dead,” Alex replies. “Can’t ask for more than that right now.”

“I guess so,” Liz says. She leans down and hugs Alex, “Don’t scare us like that again, okay?”

“No promises,” Alex teases.

“Not funny,” Liz scolds, tugging sharply on his ear. 

“Both of you please get some rest,” Kyle implores. “No rash decisions. In fact no decisions at all without consulting the rest of the team.”

“Yes, Dr. Valenti,” Max agrees with a roll of his eyes. He waits for them to leave—for the sound of Liz’s car to fade completely into the distance—before turning to Alex and asking, “Drink?”

“Yes, please,” Alex replies.

He rolls up the leg of his pants and removes his prosthetic while he waits for Max to return. He doesn’t know if it happened during the crash or the ensuing chaos, but it’s out of alignment and beginning to bother him. His stump is slightly irritated from the prosthetic being on incorrectly, though whatever damage was done during the car accident has been healed by Max’s power. He rubs the skin gently to soothe some of the tenderness.

“You alright?” Max asks, setting two beers on the coffee table and sitting down.

Alex nods, “Yeah. Just got a little jostled in the crash, I guess.”

“I’m sorry, we thought about taking it off, but we weren’t sure if you’d want us to.”

“It’s fine,” Alex assures him. “I just need to stay off it a bit. But just for future reference, you have my permission to take it off me if I’m unconscious or otherwise incapacitated for any …extended period.”

“Right,” Max nods. “You wanna talk?”

Alex shakes his head, “Nope.”

“Me neither.”

It takes a little over an hour and five beers—two drunk by Alex, three by Max—before Michael and Isobel arrive. Neither Alex nor Max says all that much in that time. There’s nothing either of them can say just yet. They’re both too busy trying to unpack the day’s revelations, and they’re not the kind of people who feel the need to fill the air with unnecessary chatter. But they find comfort in one another’s presence, and for the moment that’s what they need. To sit and think about everything that happened, alone yet not isolated. 

At some point, Max steps out of the living room and then returns with two notebooks. He tosses one to Alex, muttering something about how he assumes Alex has plenty of questions too. Alex stares at the blank page for several minutes while Max seems to fill page after page. He has questions, plenty of them. But he’s not sure where to begin. He can’t figure out how to put into the words the endless wonderings that fill his head at the moment. He’s only managed to write down one question when Michael and Isobel finally get there.

“Alex!” Michael is running to his side the second he sees him. He throws his arms around him, “You’re okay. Thank God you’re okay.”

Practically melting into the embrace, Alex replies, “I’m okay. Are you?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Michael says, squeezing him one more time before sitting on the coffee table. He keeps Alex’s hands in his and glances down at his lap, “What happened to your leg?”

“A building exploded,” Alex remarks plainly.

“Very funny,” Isobel scoffs, sitting on the arm of the couch.

“It’s just a little sore, is all,” Alex explains, trying not to laugh at Isobel’s discomfort over his injury.

Michael glares at Max, “I _told_ you we should’ve taken it off! Fucking _Valenti_ even said it!”

“Guerin, it’s fine,” Alex assures him. “It’s all healed, I just need to rest it a little.”

“Are you _sure?”_ Michael asks, rubbing his thumbs along the back of Alex’s hands.

Alex lifts Michael’s hands to his lips and kisses his fingers, “I’m _okay,_ Michael.”

“Okay, if you two are gonna get all mushy, I’m so out of here,” Isobel groans.

Max laughs, “Well that didn’t take long. I think maybe we should uh, try focusing on the matter at hand.”

“What’s to focus on?” Michael asks. “Bastard’s in a pod. Problem solved.”

“Come on, Michael, you know that’s not the end of it,” Isobel says. “You’ve wanted answers all our lives, even worse than Max and me. You can’t really expect us to believe you’ll be satisfied with just putting this aside and forgetting it.”

“I want answers,” Michael admits, “but not _his_ answers.”

“He might be our last chance,” Max points out. “I don’t like it, either. I don’t wanna rely on someone like him. But …what he told us …”

“It’s true,” Isobel supplies. “Our names, our planet, it’s real.”

“Yeah,” Michael replies, “but that doesn’t mean we need to hear anything else he has to say. If we’re not gonna kill him, then I say we leave him in the pod for good.”

“But we don’t know that the pod will hold him,” Alex says. “He knows how they work so he might know how to get out of it. Or, even if he doesn’t, what happens if in fifty years he just hatches like you did? What if he becomes our personal Pennywise? I don’t want to deal with this again when I’m almost eighty, do you?”

“That is a really good point,” Isobel remarks.

“Look, it’s like Kyle said before,” Max says, “we don’t need to decide now. Liz is making a fresh batch of the serum, and some of the antidote to see if we can trigger some memories based on what Teave told us. Kyle also suggested we make a list of questions we want answered most. So, why don’t we all just get some rest, clear our heads, and come to a decision when we’re in a better place.”

Michael huffs, “Yeah, okay. I _guess_ we should be _rational_ about this or something.”

“We need to do something about Max’s car, too,” Isobel says. She smirks at Michael, “And by ‘we’ I mean ‘you’ of course.”

“Gee, _thanks.”_

Alex snickers, “You guys really are siblings, you know that?”

“As if there was any doubt,” Isobel remarks, reaching out to tussle Michael’s hair.

“Yeah, yeah,” Michael mutters, “I love you too.”

“Now who’s getting mushy?” Alex teases.

It’s surprisingly comfortable, all things considered. Sitting on Max’s couch, Michael across from him. Hand in hand. A playful back and forth with Michael’s siblings. Sure, they’re here because they were in a horrific car accident just hours ago. Yes, maybe the lead-up to said accident was the discovery that Alex’s ex is actually Michael’s brother, who has some sort of nefarious scheme against them. And, of course, all of that stems from the three of them—and Michael’s brother—being actual aliens from actual outer space. Still, it’s kind of nice. It’s their normal; trying to fend off hostile aliens. For anyone else, it might be strange. Tense. Horrifying, even. But for Alex, it’s the most at home he’s felt in a long, long time.

***

Isobel drives them both back to Michael’s Airsteam. Once there, Alex offers to take Michael back to the ice cream shop to pick up his truck, but Michael has other ideas.

“It’s not going anywhere,” he says. “If I get a ticket, I get a ticket.”

“Michael, are you—”

“I am sure,” Michael insists. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about my truck right now, okay?. I just wanna ...I just wanna be with you right now. I just wanna pretend like nothing’s going on for a little while longer, and there isn’t an evil alien out to get us, and we’re just, just a normal couple.”

There’s a lot about that statement Alex should focus on, but he can’t stop himself from looking down at the ground to hide his blush and shy, awkward smile, “Couple?”

They haven’t actually put a label to anything yet, and though it’s obvious that’s what they are, he can’t help but react to actually hearing it.

“Oh,” Michael shifts and shrugs slightly, “if, if that’s what you …want …”

Alex breathes a laugh, “Why do we have the weirdest relationship ever?”

“If I’m being totally honest, I think Max and Liz still have us beat there.”

This time Alex laughs in earnest, “You may have a point.”

“So, do you …” Michael shrugs again, “wanna come inside? I really don’t want to be alone right now, Alex.”

With an exhausted sigh, Alex leans his head against Michael’s shoulder, relaxing only when Michael snakes his arms around him, “I don’t either.”

“C’mon, then, darlin’,” Michael whispers, kissing the top of his head.

They take one step before Michael stops suddenly. Alex doesn’t get the chance to ask what’s wrong when Michael lifts him up into his arms like something out of some cheesy rom-com. His protests and demands to be put down are drowned out by his own laughter as Michael carries him into the Airstream like a pair of newlyweds. Michael sets him down so he’s sitting on the bed, then leans over him to press their lips together. Alex wraps his arms around Michael’s neck, holding him firmly in place as they kiss. 

He slides his hands down to Michael’s shoulders as their lips part and asks, _“What_ was that?”

“Y’know,” Michael grins, _“some_ people would call that romantic.”

“Yeah?” Alex teases. He tugs the brim of Michael’s hat and pulls it down over his face, “Well, _I_ call it being a dork.”

Putting his hat to the side, Michael laughs and kisses Alex again, “I’m _your_ dork.”

“You’re _my_ dork,” Alex agrees. 

Nothing has ever felt truer. He reaches down to remove his prosthetic as Michael climbs onto the bed beside him. They reposition themselves so that Alex is laying back against the pillows with Michael resting his head on his chest. Alex holds him tight, sensing that Michael finally feels safe enough to let himself actually _feel_ what happened today. To open himself and be vulnerable, not the protector who takes all the pain for everyone else. Alex hates the way Michael uses himself to shield others, hates how he always buries his own pain and lets himself suffer so his loved ones won’t. He vows to be stronger, someone Michael can actually rely on to share the burden.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks.

“I’m scared,” Michael admits.

“Yeah, me too.”

Michael shakes his head, “No, I …I’m _really_ scared, Alex. It’s _him._ He _scares_ me.”

Teave is dangerous. More dangerous than Noah, than Jesse Manes, than anyone they’ve ever met before. Michael’s memory is still blank, but there’s a sense of dread over it now. Something telling him he doesn’t _want_ to remember Teave. Warning him that he needs to stay far, far away from that man and keep Alex—Alex, and everyone else Michael loves—away too.

Alex holds him tighter, “I know, Michael. He scares me too. But we’ll get through this. I’ll protect you, no matter what. I’ll keep you safe, always.”

“But you don’t understand,” Michael whispers. “He …he’s my brother. He’s my _brother,_ Alex. It’s true. I can _feel_ it. I _know_ him, I’ve _always_ known him.”

“Are you …remembering something?”

“No. Not exactly. But I know he was telling the truth. I don’t wanna believe it, but it’s true. He really is my brother,” Michael presses his face into Alex’s chest, hoping to stifle his tears.

Gently, Alex moves his hands to Michael’s face and tilts his head until he’s looking up at him, “I know, Michael. I know he is. But it’s okay. This doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change _you._ He can’t hurt you again. I won’t let him, I promise.”

“But I don’t want him to be my brother,” Michael whimpers.

He hates himself for having the nerve to say this to Alex, after all the grief he’s given him over being a Manes. It’s not fair to expect comfort from him in return, and yet Alex is offering it all the same. It’s like he doesn’t even realize that Teave is Trevor, the same man who put him through years of hell. Who manipulated and abused him, who raped him in exchange for helping to save Max’s life. Really, Michael thinks, every sexual encounter Alex has had with Teave qualifies as rape; consent under false pretenses isn’t consent, after all. Michael knows in his soul that when they lived on Antar, Teave bullied and abused him too. He doesn’t remember it, but he knows it’s true. Alex, on the other hand, remembers every detail of the abuse Teave has put him through.

On top of that, Alex is just a human. A weak and fragile human. Delicate. Powerless. And he thinks _he’s_ going to keep _Michael_ safe? He could almost laugh at the notion, were he not so terrified by the idea of him even trying. Because what can Alex do, really? Oh, sure, he’s trained. He knows how to handle himself in a fight, with or without weapons. He’s strong and brave. Clever, so very, very clever. He has spirit. Lot’s of it. Alex is powerful—for a human. Really, there aren’t many humans he can’t go up against and come out victorious.

But against the might of a prince of Antar, Alex is helpless. He was lucky today that Teave was careless and underestimated him. It won’t happen again, Michael suspects. If— _when_ —Teave makes his next move, he’ll take today’s happenings into account. He’ll be sure to remove the pollen from the equation, just as he’d removed the serum. Once that happens, neither Alex nor any other human will be able to stand against him. Michael, Max, and Isobel together will be their only defense. Their only hope. But he’s not sure they’ll be ready.

“I know, Michael,” Alex says, “but he is. There’s nothing you can do about that. But that’s okay. He’s your brother, but he’s not you. You’re not him. And he _can’t_ hurt you. I won’t let him. I’ll protect you, Michael, no matter what.”

Alex’s words—and his certainty of them—make Michael hate himself even more. He can’t imagine where that arrogance is coming from. Who is he to be doubting Alex’s strength? Alex, who has always been the one to stand up and fight. Who has never needed Michael half as much as Michael needs him. If either of them is weak and helpless, it’s Michael. Michael’s always been the one in need of protection. Alex was the one who saved him from his brother, not the other way around. Both today and, apparently, over a decade ago. Michael just needs to trust in him, and they’ll make it.

“I’m sorry.” He says.

“For what?”

“I don’t know,” Michael lies. There’s plenty to be sorry for. For doubting him. For bringing Teave into their lives. For not realizing sooner what kind of threat he is. For never being able to protect Alex, when he’s always done so for Michael. “I just want this to be over with.”

“It will be,” Alex promises. He doesn’t know for sure that he believes it himself, but right now Michael needs him to reassure him. He needs him to be strong and stable. Unafraid. Alex can do that for him, if nothing else. “Before you know it, this’ll be behind us.”

“Yeah,” Michael agrees, lifting himself with his arms so he’s leaning over Alex. “You’re right, we got this.”

He dips his head to kiss him, gently at first, but soon they’re lost in one another. Hearts racing, tongues dancing, hands clawing away clothing. Neither one is sure that this is the most appropriate time to break their unspoken ‘no sex until all thoughts and feelings are sorted out’ rule, but they can’t quite help themselves. They both know how badly today could have gone. They both suspect how difficult things are about to become. Might as well live in the moment while they still can. There’ll be plenty of time to sort out the rest later.

Still, Michael isn’t about to do anything he isn’t completely certain that Alex is fully on board with.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” He asks between the kisses he’s trailing down Alex’s neck.

“Absolutely,” Alex breathes, hands wandering over Michael’s muscular chest as though he doesn’t already have every inch of his skin memorized. He knows what he wants right now, but he also needs to be sure Michael isn’t just trying to distract himself. He needs to be sure this is exactly what Michael wants too, before he can let them go any further, “Are you?”

“How could I not be?” Michael teases. “You were so fucking hot today.”

“Don’t talk about today.”

“Sorry,” Michael says, tracing his finger over Alex’s jawline, “I just love how badass you are, Alex. You’re so goddamn _sexy_ when you’re a badass.”

Alex is sexy all the time, of course, in Michael’s opinion. He loves his tender artist’s soul and his insufferable geek side. There’s an unfathomable beauty in the vulnerabilities he so rarely allows anyone the privilege of seeing. But his strength, his fierceness and ferocity are what Michael first fell in love with. That power that lays quietly beneath his calm, gentle exterior, just waiting to be unleashed. To decimate anyone fool enough to be his enemy.

Despite everything, Alex laughs, “Then come watch my next PT appointment. Right now, I don’t wanna think about today. Right now, I don’t wanna remember there’s _anything_ but you and me.”

Michael grins, “I can make that happen.”

There’s a bonus to having his secrets out in the open, beyond the weight off his chest in the knowledge that Alex loves him even knowing what he is. The freedom to use his powers in plain sight, to not have to hide that part of himself from Alex. It certainly makes things easier for him, to just will the cabinet open and make the tube of lubricant and box of condoms come to him instead of having to get up to fetch it. Better, it means he doesn’t have to take his hands off of Alex for even an instant while he does it.

He wets his fingers and slides them into himself, taking his time and appreciating the way Alex watches him. Memorizes the way his tongue flicks over his lips as he pants in anticipation, the heat in his perfect brown eyes. Basks in how he runs his hands over Michael’s hips and thighs. If Alex wants to forget about the world beyond them, Michael’s going to make damn sure he does. Still fingering himself, he coats his other hand and wraps it around Alex’s cock, savoring the moan it pulls from him. The sound of his name as Alex begins to forget all other words.

It doesn’t take long before neither of them can wait anymore. Michael lowers himself onto Alex, a pleased sigh leaving his lips as he does so. What a fool he was, to ever think he could live without Alex. No one has ever felt so perfect, so _right_ inside of him. The only feeling that even compares is when he’s the one inside of Alex. They were made for each other, pieces of the same puzzle meant to be together. Pieces that _want_ to be together. Michael’s never going to be cruel enough to try and forget that again.

***

“Something else happened, didn’t it?” Michael asks.

He doesn’t want to ask. At least not right now. It’s early morning, the sun just starting to make its way into the Airstream. They’re pressed together on the bed, Michael spooning Alex tight against his chest. It’s a perfect morning—a second chance, almost, at the one interrupted months ago—and he doesn’t want to ruin it. But the question has been nagging at him since yesterday and he needs to ask it now. Before they have to leave the sanctuary they’ve created in each other and return to the real world. Before Alex gets his mind back on the _bigger picture_ and he closes up until the problem is solved. Michael needs to know before that happens.

“Hmm?” The soft hum is Alex’s only response.

“On Halloween,” Michael clarifies. “Something else happened you didn’t mention.”

“Not much,” Alex says. “Teave slapped me around a little. Nothing major, I’ve had worse; I was more afraid than I was hurt.”

“That’s not—I mean, that’s horrible and I hate him even more—but that’s not what I meant. There’s more. Something that didn’t have to do with Teave.”

“Yeah. There was something else.” Alex admits. He’s not going to lie to Michael. He’s not going to pretend that nothing happened. But that doesn’t mean he has to burden him with the details, “But it wasn’t a big deal.”

“Please tell me,” Michael implores.

Alex sighs, “When I got home …my dad was there. He got back early and he caught me sneaking back into the house.”

Having feared just that, Michael pulls Alex tighter against him, “What did he do?”

“He beat me,” Alex says plainly. He did. But that night didn’t stop with a beating.

“What else did he do?”

“Michael—”

“Please tell me, Alex. What did he do to you?” _What did he do to you because you saved me._ Michael doesn’t add that part. Knows Alex will deny Michael’s role in whatever sick punishment his father forced him to endure that night. He’ll use it to divert the conversation elsewhere.

Slowly, reluctantly, Alex pulls out of Michael’s arms and sits up. He runs his fingers through his hair, “It’s not that big a deal. He’s done worse.” Blinking away his tears, he laughs bitterly, “I don’t know why I’m even still upset about it. It was _nothing.”_

Sitting up as well, Michael wraps his arms around Alex from behind and kisses his shoulder, “Tell me, baby.”

He thinks he knows already. But he needs to hear it. And, if he’s being honest, he’s pretty sure Alex needs to say it, even if he doesn’t think he does.

“He …” Alex swallows. He closes his eyes, hating how hard it is to admit. He’s endured worse. He shouldn’t still be crying over this. It’s really _not_ that big of a deal. He swallows, takes a deep breath. He keeps his voice quiet, trying in vain not to let it crack, “He cut my hair.”

“Oh, _Alex,”_ Michael hugs him closer, moves his lips to the back of his neck. “Baby, I’m so _sorry.”_

Alex shakes his head, “It’s not a big deal. It’s not. I mean, I lost a _leg._ Who gives a damn about a few inches of hair?”

“It was _your_ hair, though,” Michael says. “He had no right to touch it.”

“I shouldn’t be upset over a decade later.”

“Hey,” Michael shifts until he’s next to Alex rather than behind him. He takes Alex’s face in his hands and turns him to look at him, “what he did to you was evil. That, that’s so fucked up. It’s, it’s like a fucking war crime or some shit, isn’t it? He had _no right_ to touch you. And you have _every right_ to still cry over it, baby.”

Risking a few, quiet tears, Alex rests his head on Michael’s shoulder, “I feel like a child. I feel …so fucking stupid.”

“You’re not stupid, Alex,” Michael assures him, leaning his head against Alex’s. “You’ve been through a whole lot of shit all your life and it’s being dragged out now. Most people would’ve had a total meltdown by now.”

“He held me down,” Alex whispers, “on the kitchen floor. I can still hear the scissors. And I wanted to fight back but, I …”

“You were seventeen, Alex,” Michael reminds him. “You were a _child.”_

“I couldn’t look in the mirror for days. I felt like he stole part of my identity.”

“You took the time to grow it out,” Michael says. “It was part of you. Part of how you expressed yourself. And …cultural, maybe? Am I allowed to say that?”

Alex snickers at Michael’s awkwardness, “Yes. Actually, we were never really allowed to talk about my mom’s heritage, even when she was around. Dad used to say ‘you’re an American, act like one’ when it came up.”

“There’s something particularly fucked up about that,” Michael comments.

“Yeah. Hard to imagine why she’d wanna leave a charmer like him.”

“Do you blame her?” Michael asks. “For not taking you with her? Are you ever mad at her?”

“No,” Alex says softly, shaking his head. “I used to be, and I think my brothers still are. But I think by the time I was born, she was too beaten down to fight back anymore. She had to get out or she’d die. And there was no way she’d get custody of us. An Apache woman with a receptionist job against a white Master Sergeant? We’re lucky she managed to get us one weekend a month instead of never.”

“I’m sorry,” Michael whispers.

He gets only a soft hum in return. They’ve never spoken of Alex’s mother before this, not really. Michael doesn’t know what circumstances she left under or what the exact custody arrangement had been. How old Alex was when she left. How he felt about it. He’d been too busy wondering about his own mother, his own family, to think about Alex’s. Once they’ve finished dealing with Teave, he thinks, he’s going to have to rectify that.

“You know, sometimes I think …I think I’d like to grow it out again. Like it was then,” Alex admits. “But I always chicken out. Keep it around regulation length.”

Michael runs his fingers delicately through Alex’s hair, “I like it any length. It was beautiful then and it’s beautiful now. And it would be beautiful if you grew it out again or kept it like this forever. _You’re_ beautiful.”

Feeling his face burn, Alex is grateful they’re not actually looking at one another right now. He doesn’t need the embarrassment of anyone seeing him blush like a teenager from one playful comment. Michael always seems to know exactly what to say. Exactly what will get him to feel better about everything, including himself. He can’t imagine what his life would be like without Michael in it. Nor does he want to.

***

“Alright, we all know why we’re here,” Max says, “so let’s cut to the chase. What’re we gonna do about Teave?”

Five days after they put Teave into stasis and now that they’ve had time to process things, they’re finally meeting as a group to discuss what to do next. Alex and Michael had spent those five days avoiding the world almost entirely, just the two of them, mostly in Michael’s Airstream. Pretending they had no worries in the world, that no one existed beyond the two of them. They’d actually managed to talk this time, between all the pretending. Mostly after making love when they were both too spent and lost in one another to keep their walls up or argue. They’re both pretty sure they need to find a better way to communicate, but it’s a start.

Enough of a start that now that all of them have collected in the Crashdown after hours, Alex—seated at one of the counter stools—doesn’t feel awkward or uncomfortable with the way Michael is so casually draped around him as he stands behind him. There’s no _real_ reason for discomfort, if he’s being honest. He came out to Liz, Rosa and Maria years ago. Everyone else guessed easily enough when he was in high school, not quite out but not exactly hiding it either. Isobel has been out to _him_ since their first brunch together after Santa Fe. Kyle has been trying desperately to overcompensate for his years of homophobic bullying. Though Alex has never officially come out to him, Max made it clear months ago that he fully supports his relationship with Michael; _glad I wasn’t around to see him and Maria together,_ he’d said, _those two sound terrible for each other._

As much as Alex knows there’s nothing to be afraid of around his friends, he can’t help it. The thought of anyone knowing about them still terrifies him. Still drags him back to all the times his fellow airmen would not so subtly try to “weed out the gays” and the violence he witnessed towards anyone who couldn’t hide as well as he could. To the day Don’t Ask Don’t Tell was repealed and how amongst all the celebrating he still had to overhear conversations about what the _real men_ should do to all the _freaks_ once they were out. To that moment his father walked in on them. 

Years of survival mechanisms don’t just fade away because he’s made a few good strides, he supposes. Outside of these walls, beyond these select people, he knows he has to keep Michael at arm’s length. Has to give a platonic, “are they or aren’t they” appearance. He doesn’t _want_ to, but he knows he’ll panic if they try for too much at once. They’re taking things slowly, and as much as he wishes he could just give Michael everything he wants—everything he _deserves_ —right now, he’s grateful for Michael’s understanding. He thinks that maybe, once this Teave business is over and done with, he’ll try working up the nerve for public hand-holding and go from there.

“We don’t have enough information to make an informed decision,” Liz states. “We need answers before we can decide anything else.”

Isobel nods in agreement, “Like Alex said, he might know a way to get out of the pods or just make his escape in fifty years.”

“We don’t know that he’s here alone, either,” Kyle says. “Or if there’s someone who’ll come looking for him if he doesn’t check in or something.”

“And that’s on top of all the personal questions you guys probably have,” Liz comments.

Max glances to the counter, where his notebook—its pages undoubtedly filled with his questions—sits, “Yeah, there’s a few. So, I suggest we focus on the logistics first. Find out if he’s working with anyone, if anyone will be looking for him, what he knows about the pods, what kind of powers he has. You think you’re up for that, Iz?”

“I can do it,” Isobel assures him. Even so, she shifts slightly, struggling to hold onto her certainty, “Just, maybe not …alone.”

“You won’t be,” Michael promises. 

“We have the serum, right?” Isobel asks.

“Serum, antidote, you name it, I’ve got it,” Liz answers.

“How can we be sure he won’t try anything once he’s out of the pod before the serum starts working?” Rosa asks, tense. It’s hard to blame her when the last hostile alien was quite literally the death of her. 

“I’ll restrain him,” Alex says. “We still have some of the pollen left, that should be enough to keep his powers at bay until the serum takes effect. He’s tough, but without his powers, I can handle him. After that, I guess Isobel can do whatever it is she does.”

“Excellent description, Captain, you’re a credit to this country,” Isobel teases.

Alex rolls his eyes, “I’m sorry that I’m not trained in alien specifics.”

“You sure you’re okay being right in the middle of everything?” Michael asks, keeping his arms protectively around Alex.

“Yeah,” Alex nods, “I don’t want anyone else taking that risk; he’s too dangerous. So, while I hold him, Kyle will inject the serum. Then Isobel will begin the _interrogation._ That sound better to you?”

Isobel grins, “It certainly sounds cooler.”

“Alright, alright,” Max snickers, shaking his head. “We have a plan, now. Are we all ready, then?”

There’s no real answer to his question. Not one better than _as we’ll ever be,_ anyway. This isn’t something any of them can really prepare for. They all know that. The best they can do is to restrain Teave and hope that Isobel’s powers will be enough to force answers out of him. 

It doesn’t take long to get ready. They set up a little makeshift workstation in the corner of the their cave, where they can prepare the mixture to get Teave in and out of the pod. They place an extra syringe of the serum and a bottle of its antidote there as well, both ready to be used if necessary. Alex isn’t entirely surprised when Teave doesn’t actually put up a fight as they pull him out of the pod. Nor does he seem concerned about being injected with the real serum. Or the restraints around his wrists, binding them together in front of him. Or anything, for that matter. He doesn’t seem phased at all.

He just sits on the floor of the cave in front of the pods with that usual smug expression and asks, “Do you have _any_ idea how much this shirt cost?”

“Look, buddy, you don’t cooperate and pretty soon you’ll have much bigger problems than us dumping melted silver on your clothes,” Max warns.

Teave rolls his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You’re gonna get into my head because you think that’s gonna give you an edge. Cute. Well, get to it, then. You’ve got _questions?_ Ask away, Zan.”

Michael and Max take hold of Isoble’s hands, and for a moment all the aliens are silent and motionless, as though in a trance. The humans all watch, none of them entirely certain they have any role to play here. There’s not much they can do to help, but none of them wants to risk leaving the three of them alone with Teave. He’s far too dangerous.

Michael breaks the trance suddenly, snatching his hand back from Isobel and groaning in frustration. With a huff, he looks at Alex, “He won’t tell us anything without you.”

“What do I do?” Alex asks, approaching the three.

“Nothing,” Michael explains. “Just take my hand and don’t resist Iz’s power. It might feel a little weird.”

“Can’t be weirder than a few days of Max’s handprint,” Alex remarks. “Can she bring this many people in at once?”

“Guess we’ll find out,” Michael replies, holding his hand out.

Alex takes it, not exactly sure what to expect. Something flashy or otherworldly. But nothing happens. Just a sudden feeling of closeness to Michael and his siblings, a connection at the core of their beings. Stronger, even than when Max’s emotions had seeped into him through the handprint. He glances around, but their surroundings haven’t changed at all.

“Hi, bunny,” Teave taunts, grinning at him.

“Shut up,” Michael growls.

“Alright, we upheld our end,” Max states. “Alex is here. Now answer the question.”

Teave rolls his eyes, “No, I’m not working with anyone. The woman you met that Halloween’s name is Poplital. She was a friend of mine that I recruited to help me find you three. I actually brought her with me because I was concerned that Mother and the others would be around and, for all her stupidity, Mother wasn’t one to be trifled with. Only a fool would try to fight her alone.”

“Where is she now?” Max asks.

“Home, I assume,” Teave says, shrugging. “She was starting to get annoyed that I wanted to stick around, so we parted ways.”

“Does she know you’re still here?” Max asks.

“Maybe. I’m not sure anyone on Antar knows exactly where I am. It’s been a while since I’ve been back or contacted anyone, but that’s hardly cause for alarm. It’s not unusual for scouting missions to take so long.”

Isobel raises an eyebrow, “Scouting missions?”

“Officially I’m off searching for new territories to conquer.” 

“So we’re _colonizers,_ then,” Michael huffs. “Fucking _great.”_

“Don’t scorn your heritage, Rath,” Teave says. “We’re just a superior species, it’s our right to take as we please.”

“Funny,” Isobel remarks, “I can think of a _number_ of people who think the same thing.”

“True,” Teave relents. “But unlike them, we’re _right.”_

Max sighs, “Of course. Just how many planets has Antar taken over?”

“Twenty or so, not counting moons that sustain life. And before you ask, we focus on planets with something useful to us. Resources, luxuries, interesting … _fauna,”_ Teave winks at Alex on the last word, making his skin crawl. He goes on before anyone can say anything, _“But,_ Earth is not on that list. There’s nothing here we can’t get more easily on other planets and while humans might actually make useful workers, they’re too unruly as a whole. Not a species worth the time and effort it would take to train them.”

“We try,” Alex remarks.

“You’ve been here on Earth this whole time?” Max questions. “Since we were in high school?”

“Oh, no,” Teave replies, shaking his head. “No, we left that summer. Reported in, returned to our duties, all that. I came back about …oh, I’d say it was about eight months later. For both planets. Antar’s calendar is roughly the same as Earth’s; our day is about twenty-six Earth hours and our year is equivalent to three hundred and sixty-two Earth days. Anyway, I’ve come and gone a few times over the years, but yes, most of my time has been here.”

“How did you convince the Airforce you were human?” Alex asks.

Teave smirks, “Little paper forging. _Lotta_ mind control. And a few bodily fluids stolen from the gentleman who owned that barn.”

“Marvin Browning,” Alex says. “You killed him.”

“I didn’t kill him,” Teave replies. “Not outright. I just kept him locked up, influenced anyone who came to search to ignore the secret room we built. He died under my watch, I’ll admit that. He didn’t suffer, though; he spent the whole time convinced he was just in a hotel room.”

Isobel huffs, “So you have the power to control minds.”

“Most of us can influence,” Teave admits. “Like any skill some are better at it than others. You seem to have quite the knack for it, Vilandra. You’re way better at it than I am, honestly. It’s not my specialty.”

“What other kind of powers _do_ we have?” Michael asks.

“Our family in particular,” Teave wonders, “or antarans as a whole?”

Michael rolls his eyes, “As a whole.”

“Telekinesis and telepathy, you already know. Most powers are some kind of derivative of those two; creating a barrier or influencing others, creating illusions, erasing memories, that kind of thing. It’s just a matter of practice. And creativity. Maybe a bit of natural talent, I mean anyone can play baseball but we can’t all be Derek Jeter, right? But anyway, the _lightning_ is more unique; I’ve never seen anyone outside of our bloodline capable of conjuring it.”

“That’s why it’s our crest,” Isobel realizes. “On the bracelet.”

“Clever girl, Vilandra,” Teave compliments condescendingly. “Lightning is the trademark of House Esmarch, though not all of us can use it.”

“Why not?” Alex questions.

Teave shrugs, “I don’t know. Every royal household has a specific ability distinct to them, but for some reason, those who can actually use them are few and far between. House Addera can render matter temporarily intangible, House Tympanne can produce a sonic sound, and House Durameter can imprint images onto objects—allegedly, that one I’ve never actually seen done—and Queen Maga of House Sepsimia has the ability to secrete poisonous enzymes from her body.” 

“That’s not fucking creepy at all,” Isobel mutters.

“What about Max’s power to heal people?” Michael asks. “Is he the only one who can do that?”

“Heal?” Teave questions. For once he appears genuinely impressed, “I didn’t know you could do that, Zan. Alex, you’ve been keeping things from me, you _naughty_ bunny.”

“Don’t you _ever_ fucking call him that,” Michael snarls.

“Guerin,” Alex squeezes his hand, “it’s fine. He’s called me worse.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t love it,” Teave taunts.

“I _swear_ to God I’m just gonna—”

_“Michael,”_ Max warns. They all know exactly what Teave is trying to do, and if they’re going to maintain control of things they need to stay calm. “Answer the question, Teave.”

“No, you’re the only one who can do that. But healing _is_ a rare gift. The rarest one of all, actually, not counting those exclusive to the royal families. There are only a handful of healers, and they’re revered almost like royalty. Any child showing signs of healing powers is to be brought to the Queen’s castle immediately. If they really can heal, they’re either assigned to stay in the Queen’s castle or sent out to one of the Healing Temples.”

“Healing Temples?” Max inquires.

“Think of them as a cross between hospitals and churches. Only a handful have actual healers living there, but the ones that don’t typically have remedies and treatments available for minor conditions. But mostly, people without access to a healer just go to the temples and pray to the Queen for strength.”

“They _pray_ to the _Queen?”_ Isobel scoffs.

“Is that any stranger than praying to a being you can’t even see?” Teave counters. “Still, I’ll give Earth one thing; its medical capabilities are better than anything I’ve seen, on _any_ planet. It’s honestly extraordinary the things you humans can endure.” He nods to Alex’s leg, “On Antar you’d have never survived that unless a healer reached you _immediately.”_

“Then I guess it’s a good thing I don’t live on Antar,” Alex comments.

Teave smiles at him, but says nothing. It’s unsettling. It makes Alex half expect to suddenly turn around and find out that he actually _is_ on Antar.

“Are those all the powers Antarans have?” Max asks, pushing the conversation on as though he senses Alex’s discomfort. “What about the connection the three of us have? Why can we sense when the other two are in danger? And why can I communicate with Isobel telepathically but not Michael?”

“All antarans have a mental connection,” Teave reveals. “It’s called the Collective Consciousness. We’re born connected to our families and as we get older naturally form them with the people closest to us. And when you reach puberty you’re initiated properly into the Collective, at which point you’re connected with everyone else in it. _You three_ can sense each other so easily because you grew up together, and your connection to Vilandra is so strong, Zan, because you two shared the womb.”

“Translation,” Michael mutters, “it’s a twin thing.”

Teave laughs, “That’s one way to put it. Next question?”

“Noah had the power to control people completely,” Isobel says, “not just influence them. Can you do that?”

Teave nods, more in understanding than affirmation, “Ah, yes, the heathen. He could go backstage, as they say.”

“Backstage?” Isobel repeats.

“It’s a rough translation, there’s no proper English phrasing for what we call it. Maybe something like ‘the subconscious’ but that doesn’t have the same ring to it. It’s the part of the mindscape behind conscious thought. This is what you might call the stage; you can see people here, talk to them, influence them. But they can resist, _if_ they’re aware of you and strong willed enough. Going backstage can mean two things,” Teave explains. “Taking control or mind warping.”

Max grimaces, not liking the sound of either option, “And those are?”

“Taking control is exactly what it sounds like. You insert your own mind where your target’s was. Become the man behind the curtain, in a manner of speaking. It gives you total control over them, but it’s also very, _very_ dangerous. It can only be done when their consciousness is tampered with, and should it return, you run the risk of getting stuck. Getting lost in the back of their mind and never making it back out to your own, unless by some chance their consciousness is suppressed again. Very few even try it, fewer still are successful. I’ve never done it.”

“And …” Isobel swallows, hesitant, “mind warping?”

“Mind warping is an advanced form of influencing. It’s a very delicate procedure that completely alters the mind. It doesn’t last long, because eventually the target’s mind will correct itself— _usually_ —but if done right, you can make a person do or say things that go against their own nature. Make a diehard liberal vote red or a vegan eat a steak. Turn a hard no into an enthusiastic yes,” Teave pauses, then smirks at Michael, “make a dumbass cowboy get angry at the _wrong person.”_

“You _son of a bitch!”_

No one can move fast enough to stop Michael as he lunges at Teave. His outburst forces them all out of the mindscape and back into reality. That doesn’t stop Michael. He pounces at Teave, forcing Max and a very confused Kyle to rush forward and pull him back. Alex tries to help, but he’s starting to feel dizzy; he’s not sure the mindscape was meant for humans. His legs give out and he nearly collapses, saved only by Isobel’s power wrapping around him. It’s too tight at first, like she’s squeezing him with the frantic fear she won’t be able to maintain her grip, but once her physical arms are around him the psychic hold lessens. Someone else—Liz or Rosa, he thinks—helps her lower him to a sitting position on the ground.

“Alex!” Liz worries, taking his face in her hands, but his vision is spotty and he can’t see her. “Alex, can you hear me?”

“I’m okay,” He breathes weakly. “I hear you.”

“He’s not answering,” he hears Liz declare. _“Alex!”_

“I _hear_ you,” he tries again. He can’t tell if the words are actually coming out.

“This isn’t good, he’s unconscious. Max, get over here! Iz what the hell happened in there?” Liz asks.

“Guys!” He hears Maria call, louder than whatever Isobel is saying. “Alex is hurt!”

The commotion switches immediately, and Alex can hear and feel everyone scramble around him. He’d be flattered if he wasn’t so busy trying to inform them that he’s _not_ unconscious and can hear them just fine. They lay him down and someone takes hold of his wrist.

“Just relax, guys,” Kyle orders, voice calm and authoritative. In times like these it’s hard to believe Alex had ever had reason to hate him. “His pulse is good, he’s breathing normally. I think maybe it’s just an overload. Give him some space, come on. He’ll be okay.”

“I am okay,” Alex repeats, his voice just strong enough this time that they seem to actually hear it, though they don’t seem to understand him.

“I’m right here, buddy,” Kyle is squeezing his hand as he talks, “just keep breathing. Take your time. Seriously, guys, _back up._ Rosa, Maria, go get some water from my car. Pod squad, sit down over there and take a breather. Liz, I don’t know, boil some water.”

“He’s not having a _baby,”_ Liz scoffs.

“Marriage …first,” Alex wheezes. He’s not sure when he closed his eyes, but now that he has the strength to open them again, Kyle is kneeling by his side.

He grins, “Welcome back.”

“Alex?” Michael is already at his side. “Are you okay?”

Alex nods weakly, “Yeah.”

“Alright, let’s take it slow,” Kyle cautions as he and Michael gently help Alex sit up.

Alex smiles at him, “We’ve got to stop meeting like this, Dr. Handsome.”

Rolling his eyes, Kyle announces, “He’s fine, everyone back to business.”

“What happened?” Michael asks, keeping his hands on Alex’s back as though to steady him.

“I’m not sure,” Alex admits. “Got really dizzy all of a sudden.”

“I think I know why,” Isobel declares. “You’ve never been in someone’s head before and we were quite rudely snapped out of it. I think it messed up your like, equilibrium or something.”

Kyle shrugs, “That’s possible. Or you didn’t eat enough today and your blood sugar dropped. Same thing, y’know.”

“I’m okay now,” Alex insists. He is. He’s feeling steady again. A little weak, maybe, but quickly returning to normal. Maria returns to his side and hands him a bottle of water. He sips it gratefully while she rubs the back of his neck soothingly. The way Mimi used to when he was a kid.

“So what happened?” Liz asks. “Why’d you jump at him, Michael?”

“Because the asshole fucked with my head,” Michael mutters.

“What was he talking about?” Max asks.

“It’s sorta private,” Isobel says. “Let’s just say while you were sleeping Michael said some nasty things he didn’t mean. Apparently Teave was responsible. Which, actually kind of explains a lot.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Michael swears.

“What’d he—”

“We’re moving on,” Isobel says, clapping her hands together. “We got some neat information we all need to process, I call this a win!”

Alex quietly reminds himself to thank her later. They all know that he and Michael had a fight right after the trip to Santa Fe, though only Isobel knows the exact details of it. He’s grateful that she intends to keep it that way. And in a strange way, he’s relieved to know that Teave was responsible for Michael’s anger at him that day. He’d apologized profusely, sworn up and down—even on his mother’s soul—that he hadn’t meant a word of it. That he didn’t even know why he said any of it. Now Alex understands why. _Michael_ didn’t really say any of it. Teave did. It was all just a part of his cruel, sadistic game. The joke is on him, though, Alex thinks. Nothing he does—nothing _anyone_ does—will ever drive Alex and Michael apart. Not really. He’s starting to see that now. See just how meant to be they are. No matter what happens, they _always_ find their way back to each other. There is nothing Teave can do to damage their love. If anything, he’s only made it stronger. For once, Alex is certain they’re going to get through their ordeal together, unscathed.


	25. look away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex makes a desperate play to protect Michael and the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We carry on from last week's chapter. We have a lot of emotional manipulation and some fairly graphic violence, beginning around "Alex is too exhausted to even react" and getting more graphic (potentially dipping into body horror") at about "Michael dives at Teave". Please leave a comment :)

On the second trip into Teave’s mind, he agrees to answer questions without Alex present. Michael and Isobel stay silent while Max does the interrogating. He focuses on them and their planet, listing off the questions the three of them wrote out over the week.

“How old are we?”

“You were seven when you left, just as you estimated.”

“How old are _you?”_

“I was ten when you were born. You do the math.”

“The crash was seventy years ago, how’re you still so young?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

“We were in stasis for fifty years, what about you and the rest of the planet?”

“Ah, I see where you’re confused. It hasn’t been seventy years on Antar, it’s been twenty. We use special portals—I believe humans might refer to them as _wormholes—_ to reach distant planets easily. But navigating them is tricky. If you do so incorrectly, you might—assuming you survive—wind up traveling through time as well as space.”

_“Time_ travel?”

“It’s not like in the movies. If you make a mistake in navigating the portal, it’s possible to travel backwards in time, and then there’s no way to go forward again except through the natural passage of time. You’re rather lucky you didn’t end up in the Stones Ages or something.”

Max and Isobel both glance at Michael, as though to check his opinion on the topic. He shrugs, “It’s …plausible. There are theories about traveling through time via wormhole.”

“So landing in nineteen forty-seven was just a mistake,” Max realizes. “But then, why did the pods hold us for the next fifty years?”

Teave shrugs, “My guess is that after the crash, Mother or some other survivor reconfigured them to release you on the originally designated landing date. What they intended to do in the meantime, I couldn’t say. Not that it matters much thanks to the good ole Manes men, right?”

“Why didn’t you come on the ship with us?” Max asks quickly, determined not to let Teave get a rise out of Michael again.

“Because I’m not a traitor. Mother and Father tried to make me, but I alerted Queen Maga of their plans. Unfortunately, we weren’t able to stop the ship in time.”

“Noah told us that we were refugees fleeing a civil war. You’re saying that’s not true?”

“I’m saying you were all cowards. Yes, there was a war. A war Mother could’ve _easily_ lead us to victory in if she hadn’t suddenly decided she’d rather make peace and write treaties instead. When that plan failed—as it was destined to—she gathered up all the weaklings from both sides and fled.”

“Earth was our destination?”

_“Obviously.”_

“Why Earth?”

“Similar living conditions. All the resources they’d need to survive. Humans look identical to us so they could easily blend. No known enemies here. Is that enough for you?”

“How did the crash happen?”

“Rumor has it there was a stowaway on board who planned to force you all back to Antar. Likely they lost that fight but still caused the ship to crash.”

“Were they from the Alighting?”

“Possibly.”

“Who _are_ the Alighting?”

“The enemy of the Collective Consciousness. They wanted to overthrow the Council, break the connection and undo the hierarchy. Start ruling other planets as benevolent gods. Antaran culture is sacred, it’s not to be shared with lesser beings.”

“You said we were ruled by a queen, who’s the Council?”

“The Crown and the heads of household of the High Court; namely, the Queen and the four eligible to be her heir.”

“Noah called me a savior, what did he mean by that?”

“Ugh, those Alighting idiots see healers as saviors. Don’t get me wrong, healers are rightly admired, but the High Court alone is sacred. The Crown is the only savior Antar needs.”

“We don’t have a religious system?”

“We used to. They say the first High Court overthrew the gods millenia ago and took the divine right to rule for themselves.”

“What does—you know what, nevermind, I’m not gonna touch that right now. What’s our usual lifespan?”

“Hundred years, approximately. Not too different from your average human. It’s another reason this planet was chosen for you to hide on.”

“What’re we hiding _from?”_

“The Queen, of course. It doesn’t matter much for _you_ since you were children and wouldn’t have been held accountable, but any of the adults would’ve been charged with treason if they were found. And believe me, _that_ would’ve been far worse for them than what Project Shepherd did.”

None of them is sure what to make of that. Michael can’t imagine a fate worse than falling into Project Shepherd’s hands. He’s always wanted to believe that his people were better than that. Above things like torture. He supposes he should’ve known better, especially after what happened with Noah. People are bad on every planet. There are only a handful of exceptions, like his mother and Max and Isobel and their mother. Like the Ortechos and Kyle and Maria. Like Alex. A select few shining stars in an endless void. Michael’s going to keep them safe from the evils of the universe no matter what it costs him.

***

“How did you manage to set up such an elaborate human identity so quickly?” Max asks.

Day three of questioning Teave—of alternating serum and antidote to keep him alive but powerless—and they’ve moved on now to his actions. They need to know why he returned to Earth when he clearly has no plans to bring them back to Antar with him. They need to know why he’s so damn obsessed with Alex. They need to know what he wants and how he plans to get it.

“I already told you,” Teave sighs, “I obtained falsified papers, I used influence and a little mind warping when necessary, and I used fluid samples from the old farmer.”

“Enough to make yourself a _major?”_ Alex demands.

“I only needed to convince certain people. The ones with just the right authority. You should know that, Alex. The tricky part was setting up a paper trail—I needed just enough to appear legit if anyone took a quick look—but I had some help with that.”

“From your friend Poplital?” Isobel asks.

Teave snickers, “Not even close. I needed a _human_ for that, someone who could get me access to people like lawyers and accountants, everyone I’d need to get myself set up with an identity and a lovely, lovely bank account.”

“Who?” Alex questions, noting that Teave pointedly left out the person’s identity.

“Getting a Bachelor’s in Business is impressive,” Teave remarks, too casually for it to actually be casual. “But it’s definitely useful in starting up one’s own business, even a small one. Can put you into contact with lots of useful people if you know what you’re doing. And, of course, I needed to find someone who could do all of that while keeping me updated on the goings on here in Roswell.”

Alex exhales slowly, “Mimi.”

Isobel gasps, “You _sick_ bastard! How twisted do you have to be to take advantage of an already sick person?”

Teave laughs, “Oh, Vilandra, a little slow aren’t we?”

“You _made_ Mimi like this,” Michael growls. “You toyed with her mind until it was damaged so bad people think she’s got Alzheimer’s.”

“It wasn’t intentional, but turns out, there’s only so much a mind can take before it breaks.”

“You really are a _monster,”_ Isobel snaps.

“Don’t be so judgemental,” Teave scolds. “After all, I got the idea from your darling heathen _husband._ ”

Isobel flinches, “W-what?”

“How d’you think he set himself up? Admittedly not a bad idea, from an Alighting lowlife. Dear, sweet Mimi was always trying to help the less fortunate. He passed himself off to her as someone in need of assistance, slipped her a little something and went backstage once her mind was out of commission. Used her knowledge and connections to create a history for himself. Honestly, you should’ve noticed it. By the time I came, her sanity was barely holding on.”

“You, you …” Isobel stammers for a moment, eyes filled with tears, then screams. Her power forces them back into reality and shoves everyone to the ground in her anguish.

“Isobel!” Max rushes to her side and takes her into his arms, “Isobel, stop!”

She sobs and presses her face against his chest. Michael hurries to them, rubs his hand along her back as Max holds her. As if he needed more reasons to want to kill his own brother. For him to taunt Isobel like that, to make her feel even more responsible for Noah’s crimes, the man must be truly determined to seal his own fate. Michael glances at him, glad to see him unconscious and crumpled on the ground with blood drizzling from his nose and ears. Serves him right, to say the least.

“What happened?” Kyle asks, approaching carefully.

“We need to get her out of here,” Max says instead of answering. “She needs to rest.”

Max and Kyle take Isobel out of the cave. Michael lingers, unsure what he can do to help. He’s already spent months reassuring her that nothing Noah did is her fault. Helping her fill in the blanks of what “she” did while under his control. Supporting this unexpected _thing_ she has with Kyle and not letting her know that he hopes the good doctor is just her rebound guy. Not that adult-Kyle would be a bad person for his sister to end up with—he’d be an excellent person, if he’s being honest—but he still can’t quite forgive the bully he’d been to Alex. Even if Alex apparently can.

“Someone gonna tell us what happened?” Liz questions.

She gets back to her feet from where Isobel’s surge of power threw her and helps Rosa up. Maria moves to where Alex had fallen and helps him up as well. Alex thanks her and locks eyes with Michael, silently pleading with him for backup. Michael understands; this conversation is too much for one person. Telling Maria what really happened to her mother, he can’t do it alone. Neither of them can.

“Maria,” Michael says gently, “you need to sit down.”

All things considered, Maria takes the divulgence surprisingly well. Yes, she bursts into tears and her scream gets stuck in her throat and turns to a sob instead. She does fall into Alex’s arms and cling to him as she cries, just as Isobel had clung to Max. And it does take both Liz and Rosa holding her to guide her out of the cave as well. But overall, she holds it together. She doesn’t attack Teave—lying unconscious from the impact of Isobel’s outburst—although she’d be thoroughly justified in doing so. Nor does she blame Isobel for Noah’s assault on Mimi’s mind. In fact, she doesn’t blame anyone _but_ Noah and Teave. She does firmly reject Michael’s attempt to comfort her, but tells him she just needs some time to process.

Alex stays behind with Michael while the three of them leave. He’s been closed off since the interrogations began. Focused solely on the mission, keeping things in line. Just as Michael expected he would. But he’s been allowing Michael to stay at his cabin with him every night. Holding him close, offering comfort as Michael struggles to cope with all of this. He’s closed off, but he’s not shutting them out, and that at least is a good sign.

“I think we got it backwards,” He comments, more to himself than to Michael.

“What backwards?” Michael asks.

“That map,” Alex explains. “Noah’s map to the murder barn. I think it was meant as a way for him to mark a place to _avoid,_ not to go to.”

Michael nods, “Yeah. That makes sense.”

“Are you okay?” Alex asks, giving Michael’s arm a squeeze.

“Sure,” Michael replies. “Just found out my brother—a guy who even the murderer who abused my sister for years was afraid of—psychologically tortured an innocent woman until she broke, but sure.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” Michael sighs. “You’re just trying to help. I’m sorry. Tell you the truth, I don’t think I could get through this without you.”

Alex pulls Michael closer, wraps his arms securely around him, “Whatever you need, baby. You just say the word.”

Michael rests his head on Alex’s shoulder and sniffles, trying not to cry, “Just be here. With me.”

“I am,” Alex assures him. He kisses Michael’s neck, “I’m not going anywhere.”

They’re interrupted by an annoyed groan, “Ugh, get a _room.”_

_“Shut_ the _fuck_ up,” Michael snaps, stepping out of Alex’s embrace.

Sitting up, Teave laughs and cracks his neck, then wipes the blood from his nose, “Vilandra packs quite the punch, I must say. Too bad she has no control.”

“Hey,” Michael warns, “I said shut up.”

“So you did,” Teave agrees. He coughs, blood spattering onto his bound hands as he covers it. He needs either the antidote or to be put back into stasis soon or he won’t last. Michael’s tempted to just leave him here to die, but he knows no one else will agree to that. “I suppose it’s back to the pod again?”

“Very astute,” Alex comments. 

Without another word, he and Michael begin readying the mixture that will allow them to put Teave back in stasis. The sooner he’s in again, the better. They’ve had enough of his mind games for one day. For more than one day, Michael thinks. Once they’re done here today, he’s going to suggest they take a break. Put this out of their heads for a few days so they can process all of this. Figure out how to move forward with what they know now, ready themselves for whatever revelations are coming next.

In fact, he thinks it’d be a good idea for them to take more than a few days. They can certainly afford it. Teave is working alone and no one on Antar knows where he is. It should be quite some time before anyone comes looking for him, let alone thinks to look on Earth. They can take weeks if they want, months. He and Alex can take the time to work on themselves a little more. Finally see a therapist like everyone keeps telling them to. Maybe even go away for a while, leave Roswell behind, just the two of them. Somewhere fresh where they can make nothing but good memories, have something stable between them before they even think about opening this can of worms again. He grins at the thought and absently leans in to kiss Alex on the cheek.

“What was that for?” Alex practically giggles, and Michael’s heart melts at the sound.

“Nothing,” He shrugs. “I just—”

“Such a _cute_ couple,” Teave mocks. “I wonder how much longer it’ll last.”

“How long _what’ll_ last?” Michael questions.

“Just ignore him, Michael,” Alex says.

Michael can’t, though, and repeats, “How long _what?”_

Teave shrugs, “This. You. The mind warp.”

“Mind warp?” Michael questions. “What mind warp?”

Teave coughs again, and though it’s definitely because of the serum, they’re pretty sure he’s exaggerating the length of the fit for dramatic effect, “They usually break after a few hours. Sometimes it takes longer; days or weeks. But I’ve never seen one last over a decade.”

_“What_ are you _talking_ about?” Michael demands. He looks at Alex—who’s wearing a bewildered expression—then back at Teave, “Are you saying you mind warped Alex?”

Teave chuckles, “No, never. But honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out yet. Especially you, Alex. I’d have thought you’d have questioned it more, really. Rath pulls away from you, then the next day he suddenly can’t keep his hands off you?”

“What’re you—”

“No,” Alex breathes.

Michael turns to face him, surprised to find him staring wide-eyed at Teave. His face is pale and his breath is heavy and uneven. Whatever nonsense Teave is peddling, Alex seems to have picked up on it already. Michael can’t figure it out, much to his frustration. His sky high IQ isn’t helping him piece together what Teave is telling them right now. Whatever it is, though, it has Alex in a state of panic worse than Michael’s ever seen.

“No,” Alex shakes his head, “no, no, no. No, no, tell me you didn’t. Please, _please_ tell me you _didn’t.”_

Alex can’t think. He can’t breathe. The world has gone cold, so cold it burns. He feels like he might vomit. Or burst into tears. Or pass out. Or scream. Or all of the above. It’s a lie. It has to be a lie. There’s no way Teave’s claim is true. But it has to be. Teave doesn’t lie. He never lies.

“Get it now, bunny?” Teave taunts. “You boys are living in a fool’s paradise.”

“No,” Alex pleads, “no, _please.”_

It clicks then, what Teave is claiming. Michael shakes his head and gives an incredulous laugh, “Oh, no. No, that is _bullshit.”_

“You really think so?” Teave challenges. Somehow, his face being pale and sunken, dripping with sweat and blood from the serum, does nothing to make him seem any less threatening. “Your mind was always easy to mess with, even when we were kids. Mother and Father lectured me for it all the time. It wasn’t difficult to get into your head that night and convince you to—”

“Fuck you,” Michael snaps. “Don’t you believe him, Alex. He’s _lying.”_

“Oh, Rath,” Teave snickers, “you’re _still_ so childish. _Why_ would I lie—”

“When the truth hurts so much more,” Alex finishes for him, voice weak and eyes vacant.

Teave smirks at him, “That’s my boy.”

“Shut up, shut up, _shut up!”_ Michael’s anger begins to shake the cave. _“You’re lying!”_

“Yes, keep screaming,” Teave mocks, coughing again. “Bring the whole cave down on us. Maybe that’ll change things.”

_“Fuck you._ You are _lying._ Tell the truth! Tell the fucking _truth!”_

“I am,” Teave laughs. “I went into your head that night and turned you right around. Changed your destiny and all that.”

“I have to go,” Alex gasps. “I have to go. Right now. I have to leave. I’m leaving.”

“Alex, wait!”

Michael tries to chase after him as he rushes out of the cave. He ignores the sound of Teave’s laughter behind them. If his mind wasn’t made up before, it is now. Michael is definitely going to kill him. He’d rather spend his life never knowing anything else about his past than let Teave get away with this. With convincing Alex that Michael’s love for him is just the result of some brainwashing. That it’s anything less than the essence of his being.

Alex gets outside just as Liz’s car reappears out of the early evening darkness. Max steps out and, not missing the state Alex is in, hurries over to meet him. Michael doesn’t quite get there fast enough to stop their exchange.

“I need to borrow your car,” Alex pleads.

“Um, okay, but are you good to drive?” Max asks.

“Please, Max, I need to get out of here.”

Too confused to argue, Max holds out his keys. Alex whispers a thank you as he takes them. He pulls away just as Michael reaches Max.

“Alex!” Michael calls. He’s too late. The only way he can stop him now is by using his powers to take control of the car, and that’s too dangerous with the state both of them are in right now. Even with Max here and ready to heal him, he doesn’t want to risk hurting Alex. “Fuck.”

“What happened?”

“Teave is a fucking liar. A sadistic fucking _freak,”_ Michael declares. He wonders vaguely if the sudden clap of thunder is the universe agreeing with him or a coincidence. “That’s what happened.”

“Ah,” Max stammers, “alright. But what _happened?”_

“He’s trying to tell us that I’m not in love with Alex,” Michael explains. “He says he _mind warped_ me into it.”

“What?” Max questions, flabbergasted. “That’s ridiculous! You’ve had feelings for Alex since like the eleventh grade.”

“No shit,” Michael mutters. “But Alex believes him.”

“How? Why?”

Michael shakes his head, “He still thinks Teave doesn’t lie. Fuck, I’m gonna _kill_ him.”

“Did you get him back into the pod?” Max asks.

“Shit, no. I forgot. Let’s do it now and hurry up and catch Alex,” Michael says. They head back into the cave as a few drops of rain begin to drip down on them. He’s unexpectedly annoyed to find that Teave didn’t use the commotion as an opportunity to escape. He’s exactly where Michael left him, as arrogant as ever. Hoping to rob him of some of that ego, Michael lifts him with his powers and slams him into the cave wall, “You piece of shit.”

“What’s wrong, brother?”

“You are a _complete monster,”_ Michael snarls. He lets Teave fall to the floor and stands over him. “Why the hell are you _doing this?”_

“Doing what?” Teave questions. “Confessing to how I rearranged your thoughts one night when you were a kid?”

“Why’re you trying to convince Alex I don’t love him?”

“Because you don’t.”

“Of course I do!” Michael exclaims. “What the hell would you know about it anyway?”

“I know everything about it,” Teave insists. “I know how he spent years convinced you hated him. Blamed him for what his father did. For the longest time, he thought the best possible future you two could have was one where you didn’t hate him completely. He hoped maybe someday you’d become indifferent enough that you’d see him as nothing but some guy you went to highschool with. A _casual acquaintance.”_

“If he thought that it’s because _you_ put it in his head!” Michael accuses.

“Me? No. I admit to influencing Alex now and again when he was being disagreeable. But I’ve never gone so far. I’ve never had to. You did that for me, Rath.”

“Why Alex?” Max demands suddenly. “You spent a decade stalking him. You manipulated your way into his life just so you could abuse him. Collected pictures of him. You keep going out of your way to hurt him. Why? Is it because he interfered that Halloween? Is that why you’re so _obsessed_ with him?”

“Ugh, obsessed is such a crude term,” Teave sneers. 

“Then _why?”_ Michael questions.

“I located you in the beginning of September. I kept hidden, did some surveillance. Made sure you three were the only ones left, checked up on all the humans you had frequent contact with. Then we learned about Halloween, and it seemed like the perfect way to determine how capable you all are of recognizing danger when it’s upon you.”

“What does any of that have to do with Alex?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Teave wonders. “That Halloween, when he tried to help you, he was so weak and so helpless. I could’ve done anything to him, and there was no way he could’ve stopped me.”

Teave pauses and smirks at the memory. His tongue flicks over his lips and Max has to physically restrain Michael.

He goes on, “But he didn’t back down. He didn’t give in. Not out of stupidity, like most people who try to challenge me; he knew he was outmatched. He was smart enough to be afraid. But he kept pushing anyway. And he got the better of me. Oh, sure, I could’ve dragged him back with my powers and killed him when he ran off with you. But it was the _principle_ of the matter.”

Max scoffs, “The _principle?”_

“He’d challenged me, in a way no one ever has. His body is soft and breakable, like any other human. Even his mind—clever though it may be—is breakable; I could go in and twist things around until his sanity is shredded. But his _spirit._ It’s incredible. I’ve never seen a will like that in anyone, not even back home. There’s _no one_ more worthy of my time than Alex, no one to better help me win my throne. Certainly not useless _imbeciles_ like you three. I knew, right in that very instant, that I had to have him. I needed to make him _mine.”_

Michael glares, “You put him through all of this because he’s a _challenge?”_

“I ‘put him through this’ as you say,” Teave replies, “because I’m in love with him.”

“You really are sick,” Max sneers.

“You’re not in love,” Michael declares, “you’re just a predator.”

“Oh, but I _am._ I have been since the moment I laid eyes on him. No, wait, I’m sorry,” Teave chuckles, “I’m getting ahead of myself. I didn’t fall in love with him until I actually _met_ him. But I _did_ know from the moment I saw him—back when we first started surveilling you—that I really, _really_ wanted to fuck him.”

Michael doesn’t remember his mind yanking Teave off the floor. Or hurling him across the cave. He remembers in pieces the part where Max put his arm around his shoulders—not to restrain him, but in genuine, brotherly affection—and leads them out. Getting into the passenger seat of his truck and letting Max drive is blurry. Max’s comments to him—that Michael did the right thing, that Max’ll smooth things over with Isobel and everyone else if necessary, that this needs to be over _now—_ are floating vaguely in his mind. But he does remember shattering the bottle of antidote clearly, and watching with satisfaction as it spills everywhere, soaking uselessly into the dirt. And he remembers every detail of what he’s sure will be the last words he ever speaks to Teave.

“That’s all the antidote that’s left. It doesn’t exist anywhere else. And it never will again. From the looks of you, I’d say you’ve got three, four hours left. Enjoy ‘em.”

***

In hindsight, it may have been a bad idea to drive himself back to town. Getting behind the wheel in his state is just asking for trouble. Really, Alex counts it as a small miracle that he makes it to the Wild Pony without incident, especially with the light rain that’s beginning to fall. Talk about a bad sign. He sits in the parking lot for several minutes, steadying his breathing. Pushing down all the pain that comes with today’s horrific revelation. Maria and Isobel need him right now. Need him to be strong so they can deal with _their_ revelation. Once his breath is even, he swallows down the last of his emotion and heads inside.

The bar is empty, save for his friends. He already knew that, though; the Wild Pony always closes early on Sundays. Maria is at the bar, flanked by Liz and Rosa, a bottle of tequila and three glasses in front of them—though the one in front of Rosa appears to be filled with soda. Kyle and Isobel are sitting at a table to their right with a bottle of wine and two glasses between them, Isobel either asleep or crying in Kyle’s arms. None of them look up as Alex makes his way over.

“How’s she holding up?” He asks, sitting down next to Liz and noting Maria’s blank expression as she stares at the empty glass in front of her.

“Like this,” Liz replies. “This is …”

“Yeah,” Alex says. “Maria?”

She flinches at the sound of her name and looks up at Alex. Tries and fails to smile, “Hi, Alex.”

He reaches out and grasps her hand, “How’re you doing, honey?”

“My mom’s not sick,” Maria whimpers. “Someone _made_ her this way. They drove her crazy.”

“I’m so sorry, Maria,” Alex says.

She sniffles, “Everyone keeps saying that. S’not your fault. _They_ did it. Noah and Teave. _They_ did this to her.”

“I know, I just—”

“It’s not all bad,” Maria claims. She nods over her shoulder, “Isobel thinks maybe she can help. A little. Maybe give her some clarity back, for a little while. Maybe.”

“Good,” Alex nods. If Isobel can undo the damage to Mimi’s mind, then maybe … 

“What happened, Alex?” Rosa asks suddenly.

He scoffs, gesturing around them, _“This.”_

Rosa shakes her head, “No, not just this. Something else happened.”

“Nothing else—”

“I _know_ that look, Alex,” Rosa insists. “It’s the way you looked when you wanted to come out but you weren’t ready.”

“It’s nothing, really,” Alex promises.

“She’s right,” Liz adds. “You’re not telling us something.”

“Let’s just focus on Maria right—”

“What’s going on, Alex?” Maria cuts him off. “Nothing’s gonna make me feel better or worse right now, so you might as well just tell us.”

“I …” Alex hesitates. 

He doesn’t want to say it out loud. Saying it out loud makes it real. But he has to. Because it’s real whether he says it or not. Refusing to say it is just denial. Denial never solved anything. He has to admit the truth. He has to confess to what he should’ve known all along.

“Teave mind warped Michael.”

“Today?” Liz asks.

Alex shakes his head, struggling to hold back the tears, “Senior year. The day that he …that we …the museum.”

“What?” all three exclaim at once.

“Teave sent him to the museum. Teave …he …brainwashed Michael into loving me.”

“No!” It’s Isobel who shouts it. The sorrow on her tear stained face replaced with determination, she detangles herself from Kyle’s embrace, “No, Alex, that’s not true!”

He laughs bitterly, “It is. He just told us. He _made_ Michael love me. All this time he’s just been _hypnotized.”_

“That can’t be true,” Liz says. “He’s obviously lying!”

“He never lies,” Alex replies. “For everything else he’s done, he’s _always_ been honest.”

“Well not about this!” Liz exclaims. “Alex, Michael loves you!”

“He doesn’t. Not really. He just … _thinks_ he does.”

“No,” Isobel declares, walking over to them. “No he _loves_ you. I _know_ he does. He’s loved you since …since …” 

“Since senior year,” Alex supplies. “Since _Teave_ went into his head and—”

“He didn’t!” Isobel cuts him off. “Alex, I _know_ Michael. He loves you, he _does.”_

“She’s right,” Maria adds, “Michael is in love with you. I know we agreed to put it to rest, but take it from someone who tried to get him to love _me,_ that man is completely and utterly in love with you. That’s _him,_ not some alien brainwashing bullshit.”

Alex shakes his head, “I wanna believe that, but …”

“Look,” Kyle says, “as someone who’s actually _been_ a victim of alien brainwashing—no offense, Izzy—I can say with complete confidence that Guerin is of sound mind. Trust me, waking up from that influence isn’t pretty.”

“That’s the _problem,_ Kyle,” Alex replies. “He _hasn’t_ woken up. He’s still being controlled.”

“But that’s impossible,” Isobel argues. “He said it doesn’t last very long, so—”

“He said it doesn’t _usually_ last long,” Alex corrects. “He said he was surprised it hasn’t faded yet, that that’s not normal.”

“Of course it hasn’t,” Isobel exclaims, “because it doesn’t exist! Michael has not been brainwashed into thinking he’s in love with you, he’s just in love with you!”

“Can you fix it?” Alex asks suddenly. “Can you fix it, Isobel? If you go into his head, can you undo the mind warp?”

“Alex,” She starts.

_“Can_ you? Can you fix him, Isobel? Can you …”

Free him. He can’t say it. But it’s what needs to be done. Michael needs to be set free. He needs to have his free will back. Isobel is the only one who can do it, and Alex needs her to understand that. They need to set Michael free. Tonight. 

“She can’t ‘fix’ him Alex,” Maria states, “because there’s nothing wrong with him. He’s not being brainwashed. He _loves_ you.”

Alex ignores her, “Can you?”

Isobel sighs, _“If_ there is anything there—which there _won’t be—_ then I can try. But I’m telling you, Alex—”

“Okay. Good,” Alex says. “That’s good. Thank you.”

“Alex, I’m telling you, I’m not going to find any sign of brainwashing.”

“Okay,” Alex repeats.

Liz grabs his hand, “She’s not gonna find anything, Alex. She’s _not.”_

He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t know what else there is to say. They’re being optimistic. He’d like to be too. He’d like to believe that Michael’s feelings for him are real. But he can’t let optimism blind him from the truth. He can’t let the hope that it’s not true prevent them from fixing the problem. He can’t be that selfish. Arms wrap around him. He can’t tell whose. It feels like more than one pair. He thinks one is Liz, the other maybe Isobel. They’re still convinced that Teave was lying. They’ll understand soon, once Isobel enters Michael’s mind and sees the truth for herself.

Eventually Michael and Max arrive. They announce that Teave is dead. Alex doesn’t move, even as the rest of them react. There’s too much commotion for him to really make sense of it, but he can hear Max trying to keep things under control. Explaining why they needed to let it happen. He’s calm, collected. He actually sounds like a leader for once. It’s good. It’ll help keep things from getting too out of hand. They’re going to need someone to hold them together once they learn the truth. 

As soon as he feels Michael behind him, Alex announces he needs some air and heads outside. The light rain has turned into an all-out storm—one that may very well keep them all here overnight if it keeps going like this—and he really hates how cliche the universe can be. Michael steps out behind him, but he doesn’t try to stop him. No point in delaying the inevitable.

“Alex,” Michael begins. Alex almost doesn’t hear him over the rain. The awning outside the bar is barely keeping them dry.

“I’m sorry,” Alex says, keeping his back to him.

Michael breathes a sigh of relief, “Oh, hey, don’t worry. I know how he gets into your head, anyone would freak out, you know?”

Alex shakes his head, “No, not about that. I’m sorry I let this happen. I should’ve …I should’ve realized it. I should’ve—”

“Alex, he was _lying.”_

“He never lies,” Alex says. “He …brainwashed you into—” 

“No!” Michael grabs Alex’s shoulders and forces him to face him. “It’s not true, Alex! I went to see you at the museum that day because I _wanted_ to! You got that? It was _me,_ it was _my_ choice.”

“Was it?” Alex asks, stepping away from him. _“Was_ it your choice?”

“Yes! It was!” Michael exclaims. “I remember it like yesterday, Max was like ‘I wanna ask Liz out’ and I was like ‘yeah no shit dude.’ But this time he was serious and he actually _did it._ So I was like, ‘shit, he really went for it’ and I figured if _he_ could do it so could I.”

“How do you know that was really _your_ thought, though?” Alex questions. “How do you know it wasn’t _put_ there?”

“Oh, _come on,_ Alex! You don’t really believe this shit, do you?” Michael’s trying to stay calm, but having his love for Alex questioned is too much. He wonders if maybe Teave had planted the idea in Alex’s head already so he’d be guaranteed to believe this obvious lie. “I _love_ you, Alex. No brainwashing required.”

“It makes sense,” Alex says.

“It _doesn’t_ make—”

“You didn’t want me.”

“What do—”

“You _didn’t want_ me,” Alex repeats. “You made that very clear. You were not interested in me.”

“What’re you—you mean the night before? When you, when you gave me the guitar?” Michael asks.

Alex nods, “You didn’t want me to kiss you.”

“I was _nervous,_ Alex, I was seventeen!”

“But you never even looked at me before that,” Alex says. “You never …you barely knew I existed.”

“Alex, we were _friends,_ ” Michael says. He knows he’s exaggerating—they had friends in common, but it’s hard to say _they_ were friends—but they were still lightyears away from Michael ‘not knowing’ that Alex existed.

_“Were_ we? I mean, Liz and I were friends, and you and Max were friends and _they_ were friends. But were _we?_ We, we never spoke outside of school or, or unless Liz and Max were hanging out. It was never …I should’ve _known.”_

“Known _what?”_ Michael asks. “There was nothing to _know,_ Alex.”

“I should’ve known you weren’t yourself,” Alex goes on. “I’m so sorry, Michael. I could’ve prevented this. I could’ve stopped it all. I just liked you for so _long_ and I wanted so bad for you to like me too that I …I started seeing _signs_ where there weren’t any. I _believed_ it because I _wanted_ to.”

“You believed it because it’s real!”

“But it’s _not,_ ” Alex shakes his head. He rubs his hands over his face, “Oh, God I fucked up _so bad._ Any time you so much as said hi to me I wondered if it _meant_ something. Or like at the prom, you were just being _nice_ but I thought ‘he wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t care, right?’ And that night, when I gave you the guitar, you were trying to be friendly and I went and read into it but you just wanted to be _friends.”_

“I _didn’t_ just want to be friends!”

“I was so determined to pretend it was real that even when you, even when you took my guitar I thought it meant something. I mean, I, I knew you just took one at random, you didn’t even know whose it was. It was all coincidental. I _knew_ that. But I told myself maybe it was _fate._ I’m so _stupid.”_

“Will you please just _listen_ to me?” Michael grabs his shoulders again. “I am telling you, I was _not_ brainwashed into loving you, Alex. This is _real,_ okay? It’s _us._ I know what I feel.”

“But it _makes sense,”_ Alex chokes, a few tears finally spilling over. “For years I wondered how someone like you could’ve _ever_ liked me. And then I started to think that, that maybe you just sort of …latched onto me. You were so in need of someone other than Max and Isobel and I was nice to you when you were vulnerable. I thought that if you hadn’t _happened_ to’ve taken my guitar that day, you never would’ve even noticed me.”

“That’s _not true.”_

“You’re right, it’s worse than that. It wasn’t even desperation, it was flat out _mind control._ I mean, it’s so _obvious_ now!” Alex exclaims. He shakes his head, “You, you don’t even like guys!”

“What?” Michael asks. “What’re you talking about?”

“You’ve never been with another guy. I’ve never _once_ seen you even _look_ at another man. It’s always just me. You’re not really attracted to guys at all, you’re just …oh God,” Alex backs away from Michael slowly, shaking his head. Tears falling from his widened eyes and sobs wracking his shaking body, he retches, “Oh _God.”_

An ice unlike any other descends over him. The world begins to spin and for the second time today Alex feels like the breath has been knocked out of him. Only this time he’s not sure he’s going to survive it. This time, it’s the realization of his _own_ sin that’s crushing down on him. One that can’t possibly be forgiven. One that will haunt him until the end of time.

Voice barely a ghost of a whisper, he breathes, “I raped you.”

_“No,”_ Michael declares. “Alex, _no.”_

“I did!” Alex sobs. “I did, I did, I, I _raped_ you! You were, you were brainwashed and I took advantage of you! You never had the ability to consent! You didn’t know what you were doing! If you were in your right mind you would’ve never …God, what’ve I _done?”_

“Alex, _stop!”_

This time Michael’s scream shakes the entire bar. He grabs hold of Alex with both his hands and his mind and forces him to meet his eye. He can’t allow Alex to keep thinking something so horrific. So utterly disturbing. Michael knows it’s not true. He knows he’s loved Alex for years with no outside input. He needs to make Alex believe that before his misplaced guilt makes him do something he can’t take back.

_“Listen_ to me,” He says slowly, forcefully. “You did _not_ rape me, Alex. You haven’t done _anything_ wrong. I’m not being brainwashed. I don’t care what Teave says. I wasn’t mind warped and I didn’t—what’d you say before?— _latch on_ to you. I _love you.”_

“I wanna believe that,” Alex whimpers.

He does. He wants to believe it more than anything in the world. Wants to sink into the warmth of Michael’s embrace and let this all be put behind them. He wants to go on pretending that everything is good. He wants to keep living in this fantasy where he’s loved and wanted just for being him. Where he _deserves_ to be loved and wanted. Where he’s good enough for Michael. He’d give anything to keep living that lie. For once, though, he has to be strong. He has to do what’s right for Michael.

This has to end. He can’t let Michael suffer another moment of this. He has to go back inside and get Isobel. She needs to search through Michael’s mind and find the moment Teave rearranged it, set it back to the way it was. She needs to free him from Teave’s control. Free him from Alex. He takes a deep breath and tries to prepare himself for what comes next.

They won’t be friends after this. Alex has no right to ask that of Michael after everything he’s done to him. Hell, he’ll be lucky if Michael doesn’t outright kill him once his mind is free. Alex wouldn’t blame him. At least if Michael’s love had been real, the pain would’ve _meant_ something. But it wasn’t, and it didn’t. It didn’t mean anything. He’s destroyed Michael’s life in every way imaginable. He’s put him through unspeakable pain, all for nothing. Because he was too selfish to see the truth. And now that it’s out, he’s going to lose Michael forever. He doesn’t even have the right to ask for a goodbye this time.

It’s not just Michael he’s losing, either. Max and Isobel will hate him too, once they realize the extent of what Alex has done. It won’t take Liz long to realize that if it hadn’t been for Alex, Michael might’ve been able to get to Isobel earlier that fateful night and saved Rosa. Her family would never have had to suffer if Alex had known better. And if Noah had never been freed, he’d never have been able to hurt Mimi. Nor would Teave have thought to. If Alex had known better, Maria would still have her mother. And Kyle, well, perhaps he hadn’t so much _abandoned_ Alex in high school as he had _escaped_ him. Perhaps he’d made the right choice back then. He and Isobel could’ve gotten together sooner if Alex hadn’t kept Michael from saving her—and Rosa—after all. Michael and Maria too, for that matter. 

It seems that, somehow, Alex has ruined all of their lives. Every single person he holds dear has been hurt by his foolishness. By his childish belief that he could ever have what he wanted. And that has to stop. He has to stop hurting them. He has to cut himself out of their lives and let them heal. He should never have come back in the first place. He should have just let go, let the fire and darkness take him like the rest of his team. Or better yet, he should have let his father end things years ago, before he even had a chance to hurt anyone.

_“Believe_ it, Alex,” Michael begs. “It’s the _truth._ I love you.”

“You don’t love me, Michael,” Alex whimpers. “You don’t love me. It’s not real. It’s not _real …”_

“Alex, please—”

“This is all my fault. I’m sorry. I’m so _sorry.”_

“Stop it! Come on, don’t you trust me enough to know my own mind?”

“Of course you do,” Alex whispers, “but Teave never _lies.”_

“Would you stop saying that! You are so damn smart, did it ever occur to you that maybe there’s a _reason_ for him never lying before?” Michael questions. “Like, maybe he’s made a point of always being honest with you so that when he finally had the exact right lie ready, you’d have no choice but to believe it?”

“What?”

“I hate to fucking say it, but that guy is _really_ smart. I think he’s been planning this, _exactly_ this story, just to fuck with you. Because he’s _obsessed_ with you and he wants to keep you all to himself,” Michael explains. “I mean, what’s the number one abuse tactic? Isolate your victim, right?”

“I …”

Alex isn’t sure how to reply to that. It’s plausible. Logical. But also a little too easy. Too good to be true.

“Trust me, Alex.”

“I have to _know,”_ Alex pleads. “Please. I can’t risk you not really being in control. Isobel said she can try to—”

“Fine,” Michael agrees, knowing exactly where Alex is taking this. “Fine. Isobel can go into my head. In fact, you know what? I want her to bring you along. I want you to _see_ that there’s nothing making me love you but _you._ Because whether you believe it or not, the fact is—”

They’re not sure which is first, the scream or the gunshot. Not that it particularly matters which order they came in. Everything else put on pause, they both rush inside, ready for anything. At least, they _thought_ they were ready for anything.

“What the hell?” Michael gasps in shock.

Beside him, Alex is too exhausted to even react.

Max is unconscious on the floor, thrown onto his back in front of the pool tables, his gun inches from his fingers. Liz, Rosa, and Maria are crouched down in front of the bar, the three of them huddled together for protection. The table Isobel and Kyle had been at is overturned. Isobel is standing beside it, her hands raised awkwardly in front of her and a panicked look on her face as she struggles to recall anything Michael taught her about telekinesis or Alex taught her about self-defense. Kyle is a few feet in front of her, paralyzed where he stands, clutching his neck as the life is choked out of him like some poor underling who dared fail Darth Vader. 

Leaning casually against the cooler next to the bar—far too alive for anyone’s comfort—Teave grins and nods once in welcome, “Gentlemen.”

“How?” Michael breathes.

“Let him go,” Alex demands.

He can imagine exactly how the scene must have played out. Teave entering from the back, making his way into the bar through the kitchen; the beaded curtain is still swaying slightly from when he’d walked through it. Max, reacting first, drawing his gun and firing on him. Teave mentally stopping the bullet before hurling Max across the room. Rosa screaming. Kyle—hoping to use the distraction to his advantage—rushing him, but winding up caught in Teave’s mental grip instead.

“Who?” Teave asks. He nods toward Kyle, “Him?”

“Let him go,” Alex repeats.

“Isn’t this the guy who bullied you for years and years?” Teave asks. His question is punctuated by the sound of something snapping, and Kyle chokes out a breathless scream, his hands moving from his neck to his now splintered collarbone.

“You heard him!” Isobel exclaims, snapping out of her panic. “Let him _go!”_

The last syllable is accompanied by an outburst of power thrown at Teave. Though it’s not enough to knock him to the ground, he does have to brace himself on the cooler door and release Kyle from his grip. Liz, Rosa, and Maria use the opportunity to crawl to the other side of the bar and hide around the corner out of Teave’s line of sight. Kyle collapses to his knees, gasping for breath. Righting himself, Teave glares at Isobel, a low growl in his throat. He holds out his hand, then flicks two fingers toward himself as if beckoning her over. Instead of being pulled forward or pushed backward, Isobel’s feet are suddenly yanked out from beneath her. Her cry of shock turns to a hiss of pain as she lands on her back in the shattered glass from the overturned table, her head smacking against the floor.

“Isboel!” Michael screams.

He tries to grab onto Teave with his mind, but his power is countered by Teave’s and his own feet are pulled out from under him exactly as Isobel’s had been. His head snaps back against the floor as well, making the room spin around him. Cursing himself for leaving his gun at the cave and defenseless in the face of Teave’s powers, Alex remains rooted to his place. A battle like this, he knows, must be fought with brains, not brawn. He keeps his eyes on Teave, waiting for any opportunity to get the upper hand somehow.

“Well,” Teave remarks, _“that_ was boring.”

“How’re you still alive?” Alex asks, watching from the corner of his eye as Michael slowly sits up. Across the room, Isobel, grunting in pain, rolls herself onto her front and off of the glass, while just ahead of him, Max begins to stir. If Alex can buy them a few moment’s time, he can figure out a way for them all to make it through this.

“Oh, you want me to start monologuing?” Teave taunts. He takes a few steps forward until he’s just ahead of the bar. “Sorry, little bunny, but not today.”

As if to emphasize his point, he begins constricting Kyle’s throat again, this time lifting him into the air for greater dramatic effect. There are more snapping sounds as Teave happily breaks more of his bones.

“Stop!” Alex yells. “Put him down!”

Teave smirks, “If you insist.”

“No, wait!” Alex’s plea is too late; Teave flings Kyle to the side and hard into the wall, laughing at the way he collapses in a heap on the floor. Alex flinches, horrified at both the display and how Kyle has landed with his neck bent in a way it definitely shouldn’t be, and glares at Teave, “You’re sick.”

Numerous shards of glass still in her back, Isobel picks herself up onto her hands and orders, “Go …to …sleep.”

“Out of my head, Vilandra.”

_“Go_ to _sleep,”_ she growls.

Teave repeats himself, but grasps his head as though drowsy while Isobel continues uttering her command. As they carry out their mental battle, Alex hurriedly crouches down to help Michael off the floor. He still seems somewhat disoriented, but he responds appropriately to Alex’s assistance. Max forces himself up onto his knees and crawls toward where Kyle lays, limp and barely breathing. 

“Guerin,” Alex whispers, “do you have the serum?”

Sluggish, Michael shakes his head, “I left it at the cave.”

“Damnit,” Alex mutters.

“We don’t need it,” Michael grunts as Alex helps him balance himself back on his feet, “just kill him.”

Alex wants to ask exactly how Michael plans to do that when Teave can counter their every move. He doesn’t get the chance, as Isobel—losing her psychological fight with Teave—begins retching violently and coughing up blood. As she loses consciousness, Teave smirks at the two of them and Michael is forced back to the floor, pinned on his stomach as if by some massive weight on his back. At the same time Max is yanked away from Kyle mid-healing and lifted upward to the ceiling, then slammed back into the floor by the pool table. Alex moves to help Michael back up when his body is suddenly immobilized and he’s dragged forward toward Teave. His feet scraping along the floor, Alex tries to resist and break free of the grip. He can’t, of course, and braces himself for whatever Teave has planned. 

He glimpses movement behind the bar less than a second before he hears the gunshot. The pull stops and Alex has to brace himself on the pool table to keep from falling over. He looks back up at Teave, hoping to see him collapsing to the ground with his head half missing or a gaping hole through his chest. Maria, after all, is very adept with the shotgun she—like any _sensible_ bar owner—stores beneath the bar. Instead, however, Teave seems mildly amused, the shell frozen in midair behind him. 

“Oh _shit,”_ Maria gasps. She tries to squeeze the trigger again, but her body freezes in place.

Teave shakes his head, “Oh Maria, you should really know better than to be playing with guns at this time of year.”

“What?” Maria questions, struggling helplessly against his hold. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Didn’t anyone tell you?” Teave asks. Keeping his back to Maria, he holds out one finger and moves it sideways as though sliding an object across a shelf. Despite her attempts to resist, Maria is moved along with his hand until her gun is pointed at Alex. Teave smirks sadistically, “It’s rabbit season.”

“No!” Maria screams, trying desperately to let go of the gun. “Please, no!”

Liz and Rosa jump to their feet and grab her arms. Even the two of them aren’t strong enough, however, and they can neither move Maria nor remove the gun from her hands.

“Where’s that magic powder now, little bunny?” Teave taunts.

“You’re bluffing,” Alex challenges, once again unable to move.

“You think so?”

Alex nods, “It’s too easy.”

Teave laughs, “You know me so well.”

He winks at Alex and wrenches the shotgun from Maria’s hands, then throws her backwards into the mirror behind the bar. It cracks as she hits it and she slumps to the floor, leaving a smear of blood behind. As Liz and Rosa rush to her, the shotgun fires again—pulling a scream from both of them—but only the neon sign on the wall to the side is hit and the gun, now empty, falls to the floor. Their relief is short lived as the mirror and all of the bottles in front of it explode, shards of shattered glass scattering everywhere and forcing them to duck for cover. Alex flinches, unable to do anything else while held in Teave’s power. Isobel, consciousness beginning to return, covers herself beneath her arms as the shards shower down around her.

Still pinned to the floor, Michael focuses everything he has onto wrapping his mind around Teave and taking him down. But Teave’s power flows so much more naturally than Michael’s does. It counters him at every turn and keeps his grip from latching on as it should. He drags himself forward, hoping that maybe getting closer will help him somehow. His body feels like lead and he can’t get far before he collapses again. He locks eyes with Max, who glances at Isobel and back, then mouths something at him. It looks like _together._

Michael nods, and shifts his focus. He isn’t strong enough to get his power around Teave entirely, but if he and Isobel work together, maybe they can each grab hold of a side and pin him down. There’s no way he can fend off the two of them _and_ keep Alex immobile all at once, right? He concentrates on Teave’s right arm with everything he has, using all of his strength to hold it in one spot. Holding herself on her hands and knees, Isobel parallels him, restraining his left arm.

“Double teaming? That’s rude,” Teave mocks.

His voice is strained, though, and this time he’s actually struggling against their combined power. As expected, he’s forced to release Alex, who drops to his knees and gasps with relief as his body is no longer constricted. Max climbs to his feet, sparks jumping between his fingers. He’s not as powerful as he was against Noah, and there’s no time for him to try and get a boost from the storm outside. Still, he summons the strongest bolt he can and fires it at Teave. It stops just short of him, held in place by his invisible forcefield. 

Free of Teave’s grasp, Alex scrambles for Max’s fallen gun. He’s unsurprised when the bullet he fires freezes in front of Teave, but it doesn’t matter. The thinner Teave’s power is spread, the better their chances of one of them succeeding. He fires again. Suddenly there’s something in his head, telling him to stop. Telling him to rest. He feels his mind clouding, his eyelids getting heavier. It takes all of his willpower to resist the desire to sleep as Teave fills his mind with it. His head hurting and groggy from the effort it takes to stay conscious, he pulls the trigger again.

The weight lifts from Michael’s back as Teave concentrates on blocking the lightning and the bullets. He ignores the burning of his probably broken ribs and pushes himself to his feet, focuses harder on Teave’s arm. If he pulls hard enough, he thinks, maybe he can dislocate it. As he keeps pulling, his hand begins to hurt. He glances at it and almost releases Teave when he sees it mangled and bloody again. Almost; no illusion can compare to the real pain of that day. Not even Michael’s own memory. He hears Max gasping and Isobel grunting and wonders what Teave is putting into their minds to distract them. It’s a good thing, he realizes; he must be getting desperate. He can’t stop them all for long and he knows it. They can do this.

So focused on restraining Teave and resisting the horrors he’s putting into their heads, neither Michael nor Max notices as the pool balls rise up from the tables. They’re both pelted from behind and forced to the floor by the impact. As Isobel struggles to keep her solo hold on Teave, Rosa—her face and arms cut and bleeding from the earlier rain of glass—climbs onto the bar and jumps onto his back, digging her fingernails into his face. Liz—as bloody as her sister—climbs over the bar as well, the last dose of her serum ready.

_“Enough,”_ Teave snarls as he focuses solely on Liz; his influence confusing her, she plunges the needle into Rosa’s neck instead of his.

Clutching at her neck, Rosa screams as Teave shoves her off of him. She’s thrown into Liz and both are quickly hurled across the room. Leaning on one elbow, Michael sends out a pulse of power that absorbs most of the impact as they crash through a table, though neither woman will be getting to her feet again just yet. Alex squeezes the trigger again, only to be met with a pathetic _click_ and the realization that the gun is empty. 

Teave laughs, the bits of blood on his face making him all the more menacing, “Oh, sometimes I think I could stay on this planet forever. You humans are always so amusing.”

“Like I said,” Alex replies, “we try.”

Gasping for breath, Max pushes himself up on his hands and tries to summon another bolt. Before Max can finish, Teave flips the pool table over him. Michael has less than a second to shove Max out of its path and keep him from being crushed, and in his panic pushes him harder than intended. Max hits the wall with a hard _thump_ and can’t seem to get up again. Isobel levitates one of the barstools and throws it at Teave, who deflects it with ease. It nearly crashes down over the barely conscious Kyle, missing him narrowly as Michael shoves it to the side. Michael stands—blocking out the pain of the welts rapidly forming in his back—as Isobel tries to fling another chair. This time, Teave wrests control of it from her and slams it down on her like some kind of pro-wrestling gimmick, and she barely barely remains conscious. A table quickly follows the chair, but Michael is able to force it to the side as he had done for Kyle. In return, Teave slams Michael face-first into the floor again. His chin hits the floor and he feels something crack inside of his mouth; he spits a mouthful of blood, a chunk of tooth along with it. 

“I think that about takes care of it, don’t you?” Teave asks, talking a slow, deliberate step toward Alex. 

Alex—sitting on the floor and having no further means of defense—shakes his head and questions, “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what, bunny?”

_“All_ of this,” Alex replies. “Why go through all this trouble? Why even let us get away that Halloween? If you just wanted to kill us, why’d you wait so long?”

“Kill you?” Teave laughs. “Oh, bunny, whoever said I wanted to _kill_ you?”

“Then why’re you _doing_ this? What d’you _want?”_ Alex demands.

Teave laughs, “Isn’t it obvious? I _want_ what I was _offered.”_

Alex shakes his head, confused, “What?”

Teave takes another step toward him, and Alex feels panic begin to tug at him. He’s the least injured of them all, yet he doesn’t even have the strength to get back to his feet. Still, he keeps his eyes locked with Teave’s, even as he stalks slowly toward him, that predatory gleam never leaving his eyes. Resists the urge to back away. He needs to think of something, _anything,_ that can save them. He just needs to _think._

Something hits Teave in the back, then falls to the floor and shatters. A glass, Alex thinks, from beneath the bar. Another comes flying over, but it misses Teave and crashes down uselessly not far from Alex. Teave huffs and glances over his shoulder, to where Maria—clinging to consciousness with all her might—is leaning on the bar and throwing whatever she can get her hands on. 

“Get … _away_ …from him!” She pants, flinging another glass at Teave. It hits him in the shoulder, but he barely flinches. “Y-you leave Alex … _alone!”_

A glint of light is bouncing off the remains of the second glass Maria threw. The pieces are mostly tiny fragments, but there’s one shard large enough to do some damage, and Alex suspects that Maria might not have intended to hit Teave with it after all. A desperate ploy—a Hail Mary, at best—but desperate times, right? With Teave distracted, Alex inches toward the glass and carefully reaches for it. At the same time, Teave rolls his eyes and flicks his head to the side, and Maria is thrown unceremoniously toward the wall. A cushion of power from Michael—who has little strength for anything else—stops her from hitting it, but she can’t stand any longer and drops to the floor in front of the kitchen.

“So,” Teave goes on, turning his attention back to Alex, “as I was saying.”

“You’re a monster,” Alex says, clutching the shard but keeping it out of Teave’s sight. It’s cutting into his hand, but he ignores the pain and focuses on his task.

He’s not exactly an expert, but he’s read the Project Shepherd files and listened to Liz and Kyle’s explanations. He understands enough about antaran anatomy to know that they have, more or less, the same general layout as humans. A few small glands aside, they have the same organs. The same systems. The same major blood vessels. A human can lose consciousness from a severed femoral artery in as little as twenty seconds. There’s no reason for an antaran to be any different. He just needs him to be a little closer.

He’s only going to have one chance at this. And his odds of success are slim to none. It’s not an easy target, but he can’t reach Teave’s neck from the floor and he can’t stand up without risking him seeing the glass. There just aren’t any better options at the moment. He keeps his eyes locked with Teave’s, praying that somehow this will work. He doesn’t know what else they can do if it doesn’t.

Teave sighs, “You just love hurting my feelings, don’t you, Alex?”

“You get what you give, right?” Alex says.

“I’ve been nothing but good to you,” Teave claims, towering over Alex now.

“Oh yeah,” Alex sneers, _“wonderful.”_

He doesn’t hesitate, and stabs the glass into Teave’s thigh. Teave screams as Alex slices as much of his leg as he can reach, and jerks backward. He falls to the floor and Alex takes the opportunity to dive forward at him, hoping to jab the glass into his neck for good measure. He doesn’t quite reach before he’s caught in Teave’s power and thrown backwards with such force it almost feels frantic. As Alex struggles to get back up, Teave quickly pulls a small vial from his pocket and smears its contents—a translucent, white gel-like substance—over the wound on his leg. It doesn’t quite heal it, but it does appear to stop the bleeding and Teave huffs in relief before glaring at Alex. Alex tries to make another move, but Teave pins him in place yet again. Though he tries to hold onto the glass, his hand is pried open and the shard falls to the floor, cracking into pieces.

“You see, Alex,” He says, “this is exactly why I love you. You’re just _full_ of surprises. No matter what I do, you _always_ find a way to push me again.”

“Where did you get that?” Alex questions. He’s certain he’d made sure to remove everything from him when they captured him in the first place.

“What, did you think I didn’t grab some provisions before I came here?” Teave laughs, getting back to his feet. “I stashed a car near your little cave just in case things went poorly back at the ice cream parlor. Clearly I made the right choice, but I’d expect no less of you, my sweet bunny.”

Alex doesn’t get the chance to respond. Michael dives at Teave, tackling him to the ground. He has one of the pool balls in his hand, and he brings it down toward his brother’s head as hard as he can. But Teave is still faster—if only by a margin—and Michael’s hand freezes not an inch from its target. He tries to hold on with his mind, but he’s thrown upward into the ceiling. His power only barely cushions him as he falls back down onto the bar, then tumbles off of it to the floor. He can’t tell if the _crunch_ he hears is from the pieces glass he’s landed on or half his bones breaking. Both, most likely. Despite the exhaustion and the pain screaming through his body, Michael scrambles back to his feet. He can’t let Teave win. He can’t let him hurt Alex anymore. 

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Teave questions. “You’re not a match for me, Rath. You never have been and you never will be.”

“You think you’re so tough,” Michael spits. “I’ll show you _tough.”_

There are so many ways he can use his power to kill. Break his skull. Squeeze his windpipe. Snap his spine. Pop his lung. Crush his heart. If he can focus enough energy on one, just _one,_ then he can do it. He can win. But Teave is clever enough to guard his every major organ and Michael still can’t find a weak point in his defense.

“You have power,” Teave admits. “Lots and lots of raw power. But you’ve got no _finesse._ No creativity, no strategy. For example, you’re so busy focusing on _me_ that you didn’t notice the _glass.”_

Michael hears Alex shout some kind of warning that registers too late, and it’s all he can do to cover his face and neck as the shards of bottle and mirror rise up and swarm him. He tries to surround himself with his power, to create a shield between him and the glass, but there’s too much of it coming too fast.

“You see?” Teave goes on. “And now you’re so busy trying not to get shredded, you can’t focus on anything _else.”_

Alex hurries to his feet—shaky though they may be—and tries to grab Teave in a chokehold from behind. It doesn’t work any better than he’d expected, but it does distract him enough to slow his assault on Michael. Not wasting the chance, Michael manages to focus on the shards and shatter them further, until they’re practically dust. As he does, Teave throws Alex off of him and he hits the floor with a sick _thud._

“You leave him _alone,”_ Michael growls, panting desperately. He feels like he’s gone through a paper shredder. Looks like it, too, he assumes.

“Or what?” Teave asks. “You’ll tell mommy and daddy? They’re not here to protect you anymore, Rath.”

“I don’t _need_ protection,” Michael says, pushing at Teave again. It’s useless. He might as well be punching a brick wall with his bare hands.

“No, of course not,” Teave chuckles. 

While he speaks, he propels the pool balls at Michael again, who manages to shield himself this time. He can’t move, though, can’t focus on anything but not getting hit. Alex grabs the remains of a chair leg and tries to hit Teave with it. He doesn’t even reach him before he’s shoved to the floor again, and feels the pin holding his prosthetic in place coming undone. As Alex rushes to fix it, Michael shoots the pool balls back at Teave. They don’t reach him, and Michael’s feet are pulled from under him once more.

“You really brought this on yourself,” Teave comments. “You should’ve known better than to leave that little antidote of yours unguarded, even for a moment.”

“Fuck you,” Michael grunts.

“What’s really sad about all of this,” Teave says, “is that you _should_ be deadlier than me. By a _long shot._ Growing up on this backwater planet, where all these savages slice each other open to study their _insides.”_

Pushing himself up on his hands, Michael asks, “What?”

“It’s hard to move what you can’t see. Impossible if you have no idea what to focus on. Back home, we know a little bit about anatomy. Heart, lungs, stomach. The things we can _feel._ But we don’t cut each other open and look inside. So no one on Antar would ever think about doing this.”

As Teave speaks, Michael feels pressure weighing down inside of him. It’s a different kind of pain than he’s felt before, tight and sharp. He groans, his body tensing. It’s not until he feels the warm liquid soaking into his leg that he realizes Teave is crushing his bladder.

“Stop,” he groans.

Teave laughs, “Humans _are_ right about one thing. Knowledge _is_ power.”

Michael forces himself to his feet again, but Teave quickly yanks them from under him. Desperate, he reaches out toward the broken pieces of the barstool nearby and flings them at Teave. They bounce back and hit him instead. Michael doesn’t even have the time to process the pain of the hit before a sharp sensation rips through his extended arm. The bones of his forearm, both of them, crack and splinter into pieces. With a shriek, Michael clutches at his arm.

“Project Shepherd determined that our bones are somewhat sturdier than a human’s,” Teave says. “Not tremendously. Not Superman level or anything. But it _does_ take a little more force to break them. Like this.”

_“Fuck,”_ Michael shouts, something snapping in half in his left leg.

“Tibia!” Teave declares. “Or, is that the fibula? I can never remember which is which. Maybe I’d better do both just to be sure.”

“Stop!” Alex screams, watching helplessly from his place on the floor. “Teave, leave him alone!”

Teave turns and smiles at him, “What’s wrong, bunny? Don’t tell me you don’t like the show. It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve just sat there while someone you love suffered.”

_“Fuck you,”_ Michael snarls. 

He pushes through the pain and lifts himself on his good arm. This time, he does manage to actually shove Teave to the ground. He’s not fast enough to do much else, though, before Teave’s power is on him again. Michael cries out, a new pain bursting to life in his lower back

_“That,”_ Teave chuckles, rising, “was your kidney. It should be in two or three pieces now, but like I said, hard to be sure when you can’t see. Don’t worry, you have a spare. But you _don’t_ have a spare gallbladder, which if I’m not mistaken I can rip out _through_ the liver if I…”

Alex watches in horror as Michael screams. Just as he had all those years ago. He wants to intervene, but he can’t. His body is too heavy, he can’t move an inch. He can’t save him. Can’t protect him. Can’t look away. Can’t do anything as Teave stands over Michael and counts off his organs, shredding them one by one. Desperate, he grabs the first thing he can—Max’s empty handgun—and throws it at him. It misses. He reaches for something, anything else. Finds a chunk of broken wood from one of the chairs and throws it too. It hits Teave’s arm but he barely seems to notice it other than the slightest wince.

Michael tries uselessly to fight back or guard himself or _anything,_ but it’s hopeless. He can’t do anything but lay there, gasping as his skeleton begins to break. First his vertebrae, then it ripples out to the rest of his bones; they crack and splinter until just breathing makes him want to die. He’s failing. Failing everyone he loves. He can’t win. Teave is breaking him from the inside out and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop him. He’s failing Alex.

“Stop,” Alex breathes, tears streaming down his face, “please stop.”

If he could just figure out what it is that Teave’s after, what he _wants,_ then maybe. Maybe he could do something. Maybe he could … 

_I want what I was offered._

Alex doesn’t understand what he meant by that. What was he offered? What was he offered that he can’t just _take?_ What do they have—does _Earth_ have—that he feels the need to go to these lengths over? A decade of masquerading as a human. 

_You wanna come home with us and be our good boy?_

A decade of photographs. Of infiltrating Alex’s life. Getting to know him. To know his weaknesses. All that work, for _what?_ What is he trying to _prove?_

_I wanted to see you. I missed you._

Always showing up just when Alex is at his lowest. Cutting him off from everyone he loves.

_Sweet little bunny, are you jealous? She was just a means to an end, my love, nothing you need to worry about._

Turning everything Alex says on its head. Forcing Alex’s life to revolve around him in every way.

_I love you, Alex. I always have, since the night we met._

With a deep, sorrowful exhale, Alex closes his eyes. Cold descends upon him. Every ounce of agony he’s ever felt fades, gives way to numbness. To an all-consuming emptiness. This is his fault. He brought this upon them. This pain, this misery. This nightmare. Alex did this to his family, brought them to the brink of death like this. For one fleeting moment of happiness, he’s murdered everyone he loves. He has to set things right. He’s the only one who can.

He climbs to his feet and rushes to Teave’s side. He grabs his arm and begs, “Stop! Please, _please_ stop! Teave you’re killing him, _please!”_

Teave shoves him back to the ground without a word. Continues torturing Michael. He’s having _fun_ with this.

Trembling, Alex stands again, and grabs Teave by the shoulders. He channels the strength of the all the underrated and oft-hated heroines who’ve had to make the same choice, and kisses him with everything he has.

The assault stops and Michael whimpers helplessly. He forces his eyes open, his vision doubled and blurred. And he’s hallucinating. He must be, because what little he can see _can’t_ be happening. Alex is in Teave’s arms, kissing him with all the same fire he’s always kissed Michael with. But that can’t be. It’s the brain damage. It _has_ to be.

Teave’s arms tight around him, Alex breaks the kiss gingerly and whispers, “I’ll go.”

“Say again, bunny?”

“I,” Alex can barely breathe, but he has to be strong, and chokes, “I’ll go with you. To Antar. I’ll go home with you and be your good boy.”

Teave grins, tongue flicking over his lips, and says, “Oh will you?”

“Yes,” Alex promises. “I’ll go. I’ll do whatever you say. Anything you want. I’ll go with you and I’ll be yours and I’ll never fight you or try to run, ever again. Just please, _please,_ don’t hurt them anymore.”

Teave cups Alex’s face, “Love, you come home with me and promise to be good, and I swear, no harm will ever come to these people again.”

Alex nods, “I promise. I’ll be good, Teave. I’ll be good.”

Teave pecks his lips, “Then let’s go home, my sweet bunny.”

“No!” Kyle shouts, his voice raw and scratchy from the damage to his trachea that Max hadn’t been able to fully heal. “Alex, no!”

“This is my fault,” Alex declares. “I did this to you. All of you. But I can fix it. Let me fix it.”

_“Stop,”_ Kyle begs.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You’ll be safe now.”

“Come along, Alex,” Teave says, taking hold of his arm and guiding him toward the kitchen.

He follows, his movements automatic. He glances at Isobel—who’s whining helplessly and reaching out like she’s still trying to use her powers—and says, “Remember what you promised. You can’t leave him like this.”

“Alex …” Rosa whimpers from her place on the floor. Beside her, Liz is gasping and shaking, tears running down her bloodied face.

“It’s okay,” Alex assures her. Assures all of them. “It’s gonna be okay now. You’re all gonna be okay.”

“That’s right, bunny,” Teave says. “You be good and they’ll be fine.”

“N-no, stop …” Isobel pleads.

Kyle tries to push himself forward, but only manages to fall over with a heavy cough. At the same time, sparks light up between Max’s fingers, but he doesn’t have the strength to maintain his power and they die out as quickly as they form. As they pass her, Maria grabs Teave’s ankle and digs her fingernails into his leg. True to his promise to do no further harm, Teave simply jerks his leg away and keeps walking.

As he walks through the beaded curtain, Alex turns to get one last look at his family. They’re broken and battered, all because of him. But now they’ll be safe. He’s not afraid of whatever nightmares Teave has in store for him. Not when it means keeping this wonderful family of his out of harm’s way. In a bloody heap on the floor, Michael is staring at him without a word. Alex wonders if he’s even fully conscious. Or if maybe, finally, his mind is free and he understands the truth. Maybe he’s glad to see him go. Alex hopes so. Once they realize that every second of this hell is because of him, they all will be. But it doesn’t matter. They’re safe now. After all the trouble he’s caused, he can give them that, at least.

Though he means it to them all, Alex locks eyes with Michael for what he knows is the last time and says, “I love you.”

_Stop._

_Wait._

_Alex._

_Come back._

_Let him go. Leave him alone. Get away from him. Don’t touch him. Let him go. Come back. Alex. Please don’t go. Don’t do this. I’ll do anything. Just please don’t do this. Please don’t take him away from me._

_Stay. Stay. Alex. Please stay. Please don’t leave me. I can’t lose you again._

_Alex._

_Please._

_Alex please don’t go._

_Alex._

_I love you._

None of the words storming through Michael’s mind leave his mouth. All he can get out are useless gags and gurgles. Gasps and groans and whimpers. He can’t even manage a scream. He tries. He tries from the core of his soul. And he fails. He can’t look away. He keeps his eyes on Alex, praying that he can somehow will his thoughts to him. But can’t. He can only watch. Watch as Alex steps through the door and out of his sight. Though out loud he can only grunt, his heart wails, for Michael knows he will never see Alex Manes again.


	26. the queen of diamonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As he continues to adjust to life on Antar, Alex must prove to the Queen that he is worthy of becoming Teave's consort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the last chapter was pretty heavy, but this one will be a lot less graphic. Also, there will be no more "before" chapters, only during and after. I'm now fairly certain that we're looking at 40 chapters total and I hope you will all continue to enjoy them!
> 
> All the usual warnings for chapters on Antar apply.

“I think they look nice,” Endy remarks.

“Thank you, Endy,” Alex sighs. “But that’s just …not the point.”

Endy sighs too, “I know. It’s the principle of it, right?”

Alex nods and offers her a weak smile, “Right.”

He turns away from the mirror. The new piercings get harder to cope with each one added. The multiple rings in his ears were the easiest to accept. Having his septum—currently housing a gold ring with a diamond crescent moon in the center—repierced wasn’t too much harder. The matching diamond studded crescent moon dangling from his navel and the net of stars in both nipples, however, have him wanting to crawl into his bed and stay there for the rest of his life. It’s not the pain that bothers him—the sting of a piercing hardly registers when stacked against everything else he’s endured—but the loss of control over his own body. He’s slowly but surely becoming nothing more than an object for Teave to decorate and show off. And Teave certainly does love to show him off.

He drags Alex out with him all the time now, to balls and parties and dinners and galas and banquets and every other imaginable event. Some are intense and glamorous, others smaller and more intimate. Sometimes Teave even hosts dinners of his own for the select few he deems worthy—personally or politically—of sharing his table. And even now, four months later, they’re all still fascinated by the tale of Alex’s escape from the Alighting. He’d hoped it would have become old news by now, but it seems to be everyone’s favorite distraction after the recent changes. 

Ever since the execution, things have undergone a dramatic shift. More Alighting spies—or at least, people accused of being spies—have been found throughout the city, but each of them has managed to evade capture. One of the trains carrying resources into the city from the surrounding farms was attacked and looted several weeks ago, the insurgents making off with crate upon crate of goods. Farms have been raided, crops and livestock stolen. Even one of the Healing Temples has been robbed of its supplies. Every member of the Collective Consciousness is distressed at the Alighting’s reappearance, their sudden streak of small victories. Teave, of course, is thrilled with the turn of events. Alex isn’t surprised; war, after all, can be a politician’s best friend. And with Alex’s role in the Collective’s only victory thus far, Teave’s likelihood of inheriting the throne has increased dramatically.

The shift hasn’t come without its silver lining, though. While Antar’s elite is busy fawning over how _cute_ they find Alex, most of their servants have finally stopped treating him with such disdain. They don’t stare at him in disgust or grimace in annoyance when they have to be around him. A handful still make it clear how much they hate him or regard him with suspicion, but the majority of them now treat him with respect. Not the sort of fearful respect they give to their masters—nor does Alex want it—but the same respect they give to one another. Like he’s one of them. Almost—Endy is the only one who actually speaks to him. For all he hated her when he first arrived, she’s become a dear friend over the last few months. 

Instead of sitting around and trying to kill away the time, he now finds it nicely filled by talking to Endy. She loves hearing about him and how life is on Earth. He tells her both his personal stories and what he can remember from books and movies. In return she helps him learn more about Antar and its culture. Adds to the lessons his tutors give. Tells him about her own life and how she worked to become the head of Teave’s staff. 

Unfortunately, even Endy’s companionship isn’t enough to keep all the misery at bay. Not when his body’s being rearranged to Teave’s liking at every turn. The piercings aren’t the only change forced on him, either. Teave has always wanted Alex’s skin smooth and hairless, and some months ago he’d subjected him to a very permanent hair removal process. The facial and body waxings he’d been enduring until then were practically pleasant compared to the way the strange lotion burned for hours while it worked. Strange as it feels to complain about, the routine mani-pedi and body treatments make him feel like some kind of show animal. He has to look perfect at all times because naturally the universe will collapse if he should have a single blemish. He’s certain that at this point, the scent of black raspberries and vanilla has seeped permanently into his skin.

As hard as Alex tries to stay in shape—especially after the incident with the Alighting—Teave always takes measures to limit him. He wants Alex’s muscles lean and healthy, but not functional; he needs to be _attractive,_ not capable. His diet is tailored so that—while healthy—it’s unfit for intense workouts, and his clothing is almost always restrictive and limits his movements. If he tries to do much more than his physical therapy routines, he’s punished for it. 

“The painter is here,” Endy announces.

“Great,” Alex replies, “time to sit for portrait number two hundred twenty seven.”

“Is that a human thing?” Endy asks. “Exaggerating like that? You do it a lot.”

“Yeah, it kind of is. It’s called a hyperbole; we do it to be funny or make a point.”

“The point being that Lord Teave has commissioned too many portraits of you already?” Endy asks.

“Yeah, something like that,” Alex says.

He tugs his shirt back on and follows her as she leads the way out of the room to wherever the painter has set up this time. To say that Teave has commissioned too many portraits already is an understatement; he’s expressed several times his intention to ensure there’s at least one in every room. It was bad enough back on Earth when Teave was constantly photographing him. Not just the disturbing candids he’d taken in secret for years, but also pictures that Alex had posed for willingly when he’d been infatuated with “Trevor.” Sometimes he’d made Alex pose for multiple shots, but it was never as bad as this. He has to hold perfectly still—sometimes for hours—in whatever pose Teave has decided on this time. They range from the sort of prim and proper image expected of royalty to lewd and vulgar ones that Teave has mercifully hung only in his private chambers. The first one, however, is the worst. It was painted just days after his arrival, portraying him chained and gagged, his nude body spread and displayed helplessly inside the cage, and to Alex’s humiliation, Teave has placed it over the fireplace in Alex’s bedroom. His one attempt at covering it up was met with a return trip to the cage; a week of “life imitating art,” as Teave put it, was enough to convince him that he’d rather have to be _reminded_ of that time than _relive_ it.

For this portrait—another nude, to his misfortune—his lips, eyelids and nails are all painted gold and he has numerous decorations in addition to his new piercings; thin gold chains wrapped around his chest and waist, and the gold cuff bearing the emblem of House Esmarch is around his wrist. Another chain is wrapped around his head, a small diamond dangling over his forehead. Today’s session is in one of the castle’s many bedrooms. He lays down on the bed, his gold adornments standing out sharply against the black sheets. Teave and the painter spend several minutes standing over him and discussing how best to pose him. Eventually he’s placed on his back, his head turned to the side and arms raised up around his head. His legs are parted, his left bent slightly and a black sheet draped between them to just barely preserve his modesty. After another moment of discussion, Teave removes his prosthetic from him.

Seemingly satisfied with how Alex is posed, Teave adds one last accessory, one that has Alex wanting to risk everything to run away. The simple gold choker _looks_ ordinary, but the back of it embeds itself into his spine; another neuro-bridge to connect him to the Collective Consciousness. Though he’s starting to get used to the connection, nothing can lessen the burning beneath his skin once it’s made. Trailing along his nerves, spreading across every inch of his being until he’s consumed by it. Moving, breathing, even _thinking_ hurts him when he wears it. He’s pretty sure his every last brain cell is going to burn to a crisp someday.

At least when he’s forced to pose for portraits, he doesn’t have to do anything. Doesn’t have to parade around like a show pony or try to listen to the conversations around him. Doesn’t have to worry about manners and proper behavior. He just has to hold still. He can let his mind wander until he barely feels the pain from the neuro-bridge anymore. He can dream. And oh, does he dream.

His mind slips free, away from his body, far away from anything resembling reality. He finds himself back on Earth, back with his family. With Michael. They welcome him with open arms and it’s as though he’d never even left. Like nothing ever happened. Other times, Michael comes to him. Sometimes he makes promises of bringing him back to Earth, and others he creates a life for them on Antar. Erases Teave and the Council and the Queen and all the misery and turns the castle into _their_ home. 

Today he rises up off the bed—his leg irrelevant in the realm of fantasy—and walks out the door. When he steps through it, he’s not in the hallway of the castle, but back in the Crashdown. It’s decorated for Christmas, the exact way it had been his senior year. He distinctly remembers helping Rosa paint designs on the window; by the time they finished, she’d covered his face in splotches of sparkly light blue paint, and he paid her back by smearing streaks of green paint on hers. Liz and Maria had been busy putting strings of lights and snowflakes on the ceiling and around the counter. It had been a great day, just the four of them having fun on a Sunday afternoon helping Arturo with the decorations. Even if he did have to make sure to wash every hint of paint off of himself before he went home.

It’s different this time. There’s a giant Christmas tree in the middle of the diner that has definitely never been there before; Arturo always puts one small tree on one end of the counter, and a menorah on the other. The girls don’t seem to think anything of it, though, as they place lights and ornaments along its branches. They’re not alone, either; Kyle is here with them. So are Max and Isobel. And Michael. Always Micheal.

They’re teenagers again, all of them. Seventeen and innocent, completely oblivious to the horrors waiting just a few months away. But then, in this fantasy world, those horrors don’t exist. There’s nothing here to hurt them. They’re safe. They welcome him over, and he too is seventeen again. Michael reaches out and drapes one arm around his shoulders, plants a loving kiss upon his cheek, and Alex is not afraid. He has no reason to be. His father does not exist here. No one can hurt them. Here, he can have this. He decorates the tree with them. They joke and laugh and play around. It’s carefree and fun and Alex feels so _right._

“Hey, did you guys hear about that old couple that got in trouble because of their Christmas tree?” Michael asks suddenly, levitating a crystal snowflake to a branch just out of his reach. There’s no need to hide his powers here, after all.

Liz shakes her head, “No, what happened?”

“It was like, a huge tree,” Michael explains. “Totally covered in lights. The whole neighborhood liked it, but this one dude who complained it was too bright and like, got the mayor involved and shit.”

“I haven’t heard anything about that,” Maria comments. “Where was this?”

Michael shrugs, “I don’t know, somewhere in like, Maine, I think.”

“So what happened with it?” Max asks.

“Mayor made them shut it down but the town rallied around them. They won. Apparently they even got a priest involved. He marched right into the mayor’s office,” Michael says, grinning just slightly, “and said _let their tree light.”_

There’s a collective groan throughout the room from everyone but Alex, who laughs wholeheartedly at Michael’s stupid joke. He laughs so hard he almost falls over and Michael wraps his arms around him to keep him upright. It’s not even really funny, he knows, but he can’t help it. Michael’s always so proud of his dumb jokes, always tells them so perfectly—at least, the real Michael did when they really were teenagers and he still had something left to his innocence. This dream Michael never lost it in the first place.

“Alex thinks I’m funny,” Michael comments, taking advantage of the fact that he’s still doubled over laughing in his arms to kiss the top of his head.

“He’s the only one on the planet,” Isobel mutters, rolling her eyes.

“I _do_ think you’re funny,” Alex remarks.

“Thanks, darlin’,” Michael replies, kissing him.

Soon the tree is almost finished, with only one decoration left to be placed; the star at the top. The tree is too tall for any of them to reach, and Alex expects that Michael or Isobel will use their powers to place it. To his surprise, Michael hands the star to him, then lifts him up onto his shoulders. The boost makes Alex just tall enough to reach the top, and he reaches out to put the star where it belongs. He’s almost placed it perfectly in its spot when the world dissolves around him without warning.

Alex opens his eyes and he’s back on the bed, hearing Teave praise the painter for a job well done. The neuro-bridge has been disconnected. It’s not the worst way to be pulled from his fantasy; it’s far worse when it breaks from within, his guilt reminding him of the truth with those three wicked words. This way is cold, but gentle. Endy helps him to sit up, gently lifting him into a sitting position. She drapes a light sheet around his shoulders and rubs his back softly, trying to help him regain his equilibrium. It’s always hard for him to get the room to stop spinning and the fog to clear one the neuro-bridge is removed. He’s better at it than he was, but it’s by no means easy. As Teave chats with the painter a bit more, Endy helps Alex get his prosthetic and clothing back on. He doesn’t bother looking at the painting; he’s seen enough of them to last a lifetime. 

Endy helps him back to his room. She talks along the way, chatting about a former girlfriend who now works as a cook in Castle Tympanne. It’s hard, he’s learned, for servants to find real love, especially in the High Court. Their contact is limited to mainly one another, and those who have friends or family still living in the slums rarely have the opportunity to see them. Often their only option is to find someone companionable and hope for the best. He knows that Endy, having grown to love Earth’s tales of adventure and romance, has come to secretly hope for an epic romance of her own. Alex would do just about anything to give that to her. She deserves to live happily ever after.

***

Portraits aren’t the only thing Alex has had enough of since coming to Antar. Teave has had an entire wardrobe designed for him, extensive enough to make even Barbie jealous. He’s constantly being fitted for new outfits, lest the public ever see him in the same one twice. He has to capture their attention every time, and the many designers Teave brings in do splendidly in making sure of that. Everything is completely customized to his body and adjusted to ensure absolute perfection. Tonight’s session, Teave keeps reminding him, is crucial. The final fitting before he’s presented to the Queen and officially judged. Tomorrow, if all goes well, she’ll offer her blessing to his and Teave’s marriage.

“It’s usually the head of household that blesses the marriage,” Teave had explained. “But when it comes to members of the Council, it must come from the crown.”

Now Alex stands in front of an enormous mirror as Teave and the tailor he’s brought along examine him and his clothing carefully. Teave nods to himself, seemingly pleased with the final appearance of Alex’s ensemble. He calls Endy over, and she and the tailor begin stripping Alex carefully, keeping everything in perfect condition. Once Alex is undressed, Teave sends the tailor away, warning him that if even a speck of dust gets on anything, he will suffer for it. 

“Now, tell me again,” he commands Alex, rubbing his shoulders, “what are you?”

Eyes on his reflection, Alex takes a deep breath and recites, “I am a consort of the High Court.” 

“What is your role?”

“To serve my Lord. In all things, I am an extension of your will and a symbol of your authority.”

“And what must a good consort be?”

“Quiet. Delicate. Obedient.”

Teave kisses his cheek, “Very good, Alex. Queen Maga’s blessing is as good as ours.”

“What,” Alex lets out a shaky sigh and asks, “what happens if I don’t earn the Queen’s blessing tomorrow?”

“If you _don’t?”_ Teave asks.

Alex nods. Teave gives him a thoughtful look, and for a moment Alex actually thinks he might get a real answer. What he gets instead is a hard backhand, accompanied by a telekinetic shove that sends him to the floor. It tells him everything he needs to know.

“I’ll send Apgar in to heal that bruise,” Teave remarks, turning to leave. “Get a good night’s rest.”

The second Teave is out the door, Endy is crouched down at Alex’s side and wrapping her arm around him.

“It’s fine, Endy,” he assures her. “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, helping him to his feet and into a sheer, feathered robe. “That looked like a bad one.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” Alex replies. He lightly rubs the spot where Teave hit him, “Been hit harder than that.”

Still, he doesn’t protest the way Endy keeps her arm around him as they walk back to his room. As much as he hates it, he doesn’t resist once they’re inside and lets her do all the work of bathing him and readying him for bed. It’s all part of the image he’s supposed to present; a helpless human, a delicate consort. He can’t give the slightest indication that he’s capable of …well, anything. A proper consort relies on their spouse and servants for everything, and a simple minded human couldn’t possibly take care of himself. 

On most nights, Endy gives Alex his privacy and lets him take care of himself. But when he’s expected to make an appearance the following day, she follows protocol to the letter. It helps, in its own way. Gets Alex into the right mindset. Allows him to focus just on what he needs to do, how he needs to appear to everyone. And with tomorrow being the most important occasion yet, there’s no room for mistakes. Even something as simple as his nails—currently painted in such a shiny, metallic gold he could use them to summon the Candyman—being scuffed can ruin everything and doom everyone he loves.

So he cooperates as Endy does her job. Cooperates when Apgar—House Esmarch’s healer, an old man who reminds Alex a great deal of Arturo, both in looks and personality—arrives to make sure Alex won’t have any bruises when he’s presented to the Queen tomorrow. He keeps his hand on the small of his back while he heals him, ensuring that if a handprint forms it won’t be seen. As she often does, Endy stays by Alex’s side even after he’s meant to get into bed. She climbs in next to him and talks some more about her life before he arrived. About her parents, both sanitation workers in the Lower Ring. They’d been a loving pair, kind and caring. Raised Endy to be confident and compassionate. To have pride in her work. Supported her hope to someday become a painter. A hope that was only even remotely possible during Queen Mara’s reign.

They’d both been staunch supporters of Queen Mara; not only her attempts at changing Antar’s social structure, but at bringing peace with the Alighting. And most importantly, her ideas—however vaguely formed they were by the time she departed—of returning sovereignty to the planets conquered by the Collective Consciousness. No one knows exactly how or why she developed such ideals, but for a solid decade she’d implemented them with the utmost grace. How Alex wishes he could tell Michael all about the wonderful things his mother had done. What she’d been trying to do. Before she was betrayed. Before they had to flee. Before the Manes family ever hurt them. Before _Alex_ ever hurt _him._

***

The train ride to the Queen’s castle always seems to be both the longest and the shortest of journeys. Slowed by his dread, sped up by his anxiety. He’s only been there a few times, but as always he just wants to get it over with, while at the same time he’d do anything to put it off a minute longer. Her imposing castle is in the center of the Upper Ring, towering over the entire city. The mere sight of it makes Alex nervous.

He turns away from the window and asks, “Hey, Teave? Why are there five castles?”

“Because there are five royal families,” Teave replies, looking at Alex as though he’s grown a second head. He presses his hand lightly against Alex’s forehead, as if checking for a fever, “Did you sleep _at all_ last night?”

“No, I mean, the crown lives in the center, right? And the other four families live around them?”

Teave nods, “Yes.”

“So, what happens when someone else takes the throne? Do they, do they switch castles?”

“Oh,” Teave chuckles, _“that’s_ what you mean. No, the families don’t swap castles. The castles move.”

“They _move?”_ Alex questions.

“Did I not tell you that yet? The entire Upper Ring is built on elevated platforms. The castles are designed to be rotated, so if—for a completely random example—I’m named king, there’ll be a shift, and Castle Esmarch and Castle Sepsimia will switch places.”

“That’s …are you serious?”

“Absolutely,” Teave replies.

“The castles _move?_ Like, they literally _move?”_

“It’s really quite a magnificent sight. Honestly, I can’t even _describe_ it properly. You’ll see it, though, when the time comes,” Teave says.

He rests his hand on Alex’s thigh and squeezes lightly. Alex suppresses the urge to pull away from him well enough that one of the guards by the door smiles just slightly; she, like everyone else, fully believes that their relationship is real. They all believe it so strongly that—so long as Teave allows it—they don’t even mind hearing an offworld language. To them, it’s become something akin to a human speaking to an infant or a pet. Amusing. Charming. _Cute._ Alex needs to keep that illusion going, to get the same kind of reaction from everyone tonight. Needs to be certain that he’ll win the Queen over. 

The train pulls into the Queen’s station. Teave helps Alex to his feet and checks him over to be sure his outfit is in order. Sparkling gold vest, black pants with a gold floral pattern—perfectly matching Teave’s own suit—the same gold chain over his head he’d worn for his last portrait, and a series of gold beads around his forearms. As always, Teave saves the most important piece for last. The first neuro-bridge for the day is a circle of crystal flowers with several gold chains dangling from it, draped around Alex’s shoulders to his elbows. They’re a few minutes earlier than expected, something Teave does intentionally so that Alex can have a moment to adjust to the neuro-bridge. He’s getting better and better at it every time; he can stay focused now and tolerate the burning sensation enough to get through the day. Enough that Teave believes him ready for this.

He won’t be wearing any of it for very long. Gatherings at the Queen’s castle inevitably involve multiple outfit changes. Even the gold lip and eye makeup he’s wearing will be swapped out before the night is over. Thankfully, this particular event will be shorter than most. Starting in the early evening rather than early morning, he’ll only be changing twice. First for dinner, then—more importantly—for his Presentation. 

Taking a deep breath, he follows Teave out of the station and into the castle proper, Endy trailing behind them. He tries to ignore the sight of his reflection in the endless forest of waterfalls lining the pathway. They’re greeted by one of the Queen’s many, many servants, who escorts them to whichever of the castle’s numerous parlors has been chosen for today. The servant announces them as they enter the room and they’re welcomed by the other guests who’ve already arrived. Alex walks a step behind Teave, hands folded behind his back. It’s easy now to get the posture right, now that he understands exactly what it’s supposed to be.

Like so many other things, it was Endy who explained it to him fully. In the early days before the High Court united to create the Collective Consciousness, their consorts were captives. An age-old tale of conquest, where the victors claimed the spoils and the conquered could only struggle to survive. That which Teave once said was for “training” was really designed for breaking the spirit of the imprisoned consorts. They were kept in solitary confinement with no contact from anyone save their spouse-to-be. Conditioned into helplessness by being denied the freedom to even perform daily tasks like bathing on their own. Monitored at all times. Silenced by the same kind of harness Teave always puts on Alex when he speaks without permission. Leashed and forced to walk a step behind their captor. And until their submission was absolute, their hands were bound at all times; in their laps while sitting, behind them while standing. Escape was virtually impossible; most antarans can’t move anything they can’t see, making a skill like lockpicking almost unknown. Even if they could do such a thing, they’d never make it far with how closely guarded they were.

In a strange sort of way, the knowledge almost gives Alex a sense of belonging. Despite those who still claim his presence is an insult to Antar, he’s just another in a long line of forced marriages. He’s keeping with their traditions almost better than they are. Of course, once the Collective was established, the position shifted to one of honor and the twisted history behind it became little more than a minor detail. Still, it’s a card for Teave to play, and anything that serves Teave’s purposes keeps Alex’s family safe.

Right now, serving Teave’s purposes means being the perfect accessory. Alex has become skilled at that; he sticks to his side, follows him obediently. Keeps still and calm while everyone fawns over him. While they pet him and talk about him as though he’s not standing right there. He smiles and leans into the touch and gives a doe-eyed look when appropriate. Occasionally glances over at Endy—always standing nearby—to make sure he’s not slipping up; she always gives him the slightest of nods, letting him know he’s doing things exactly right. And for the most part, the party-goers eat it up. They laugh and compliment Teave for his hard work _training_ and _civilizing_ such a simple creature. A few—Teave’s political rivals and their greatest supporters, mostly—make the occasional snide remark or offer a backhanded compliment. Tonight, Dame Meltru—Lord Miripe’s wife—scratches under his chin, her long, sharp, sparkly pink nails scraping his skin as she remarks on how _sweet_ it is that Teave dresses him up so nicely. 

“You know, Teave,” Miripe says, sipping his champagne, one arm loosely draped around Meltru’s waist, “there’s a rumor going about. That you’ve requested permission to present the little thing to Her Majesty tonight.”

“Perhaps I have,” Teave replies.

“No,” gasps Lady Vanka. “You’re really going to do it? Request permission to marry this …human?”

“Have I not made that clear?” Teave asks.

“I admit, I assumed it was a passing fancy. I never imagined you’d see it through,” Vanka replies.

“I’m not the type to do things halfway, Vanka,” Teave says. “You know that.”

“True,” Miripe agrees. “But I still have my doubts about this little venture of yours. You’ve certainly proven that a human can make a nice pet, but a _consort?_ Just because you can teach it tricks, doesn’t mean you should _marry_ it. I’ve noticed it still acts out from time to time, and let’s not forget that little incident with Harin of House Weinvy.”

Every time Alex encounters Miripe, he’s left wanting to throttle the man. This time is no different. Leave it to him to dredge up _that_ incident again. That awful night months ago when his leg had been fondled against his will and Alex was punished with the harness for daring to protest it. Most people seem to have let it go by now, and the other instances of Alex “acting out” have been relatively minor. Speaking out of turn, mostly, and Teave has made a show of _disciplining_ him for it every time. The transgressions are few and far between, and most people don’t really seem to think much of them. But Miripe will use anything he can to make Teave seem foolish. 

Teave sounds vaguely amused as he answers, “Yes, I thought you’d say something like that. But you haven’t seen Alex’s progression as I have; if you had, you’d think quite differently. As for the matter with Harin of House Weinvy, he _did_ touch my property without my permission. I believe your consort has acted improperly over less.”

Meltru scoffs loudly and indignantly, but knows she can’t say anything without proving Teave’s point. It’s not her place to argue or disagree with a member of the Council. Vanka snorts in laughter, which she quickly covers by clearing her throat a few times.

Miripe’s face flushes nearly purple, “That is a _completely_ different matter.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Teave replies. 

He doesn’t add that misbehavior from Meltru—who ought to know better, by all accounts—is far more serious than misbehavior from Alex. Alex’s mistakes can be written off as him still learning, and Teave excels at spinning situations to fit the narrative he’s created. Meltru was born in the Court and married into the High Court years ago; she has no excuse. And Miripe is nowhere near as skilled as Teave in crafting scenarios and charming those around him. His greatest skill, as Alex understands it, has always been in conquering. Military campaigns. Driving enemies to surrender. The more subtle battles of internal political affairs, he does not thrive in. It takes him a minute to even realize that Teave has backed him into a corner with his comment. The moment he does, he excuses himself and takes Meltru with him.

“Oh, Teave,” Vanka snickers, “was that necessary?”

Teave drapes his arm around Alex’s shoulders, “I don’t take kindly to insults.”

“Nor should you,” Vanka replies. She reaches out and strokes the side of Alex’s face, “I just hope it appreciates all your hard work.”

“I wouldn’t put in so much work otherwise,” Teave replies, giving Alex a peck on the cheek.

Alex leans into him, offering a contented hum that seems to satisfy Vanka’s inquiry. She’s still relatively new to the Council, Alex has been told, after the sudden death of her Uncle Micon just a year before Alex arrived. But she’s a quick learner, Alex has noticed, and what she lacks in experience she makes up for in tenacity. Though she’s still not quite a threat to Teave, it could still be years before Queen Maga decides on a successor; plenty of time for her to improve. Meaning Alex can’t slack off; if Teave doesn’t win the throne, there will be hell to pay.

Eventually the announcement is made that dinner will be served shortly, and the guests file out to dress for it. Alex follows Teave back to his private train so they can change. They step into a car specifically designed to serve as their dressing room, and Alex keeps still and lets Endy do all of the work. As he’s supposed to. His dinner dress is simple enough; black and sleeveless with the same gold floral pattern his pants had. The crystal flower neuro-bridge is replaced with a gem studded choker. His upper arms are left bare, and the rest of his accessories and his makeup remain unchanged. Teave swaps his floral blazer for one that’s pure black on the right side, and covered in gold vines on the left.

Once they’ve changed, they’re escorted back into the castle to the evening’s dining hall. Everyone takes their appropriate seat at many banquet tables and quietly awaits the Queen’s arrival. The members of the Council are at the Queen’s table; Kelico and Miripe, as the eldest members, are seated at her right and left sides respectively, their consorts beside them. Teave is seated next to Kelico’s husband, Isdey, while Alex is, as always, at his side. Across from them, Vanka sits alone beside Miripe and Meltru. If the look on her face is any indication, she’s beginning to realize that in order to stand any chance of winning the throne, she’s going to need a consort of her own. And soon.

Relatives of the Council—including the Queen’s family—are gathered at the tables nearest the Queen’s. The rest of the guests sit further and further away, their proximity determined by their importance in the Collective. Each of them would do anything to be promoted to a closer table. Or even better, make it to the Queen’s. 

Soon enough the Queen’s arrival is announced. The guests stand and bow respectfully as she enters the dining hall. The top half of her gown is gold, an elegant pattern branching down along the white skirt. A crown of diamonds sits atop her head, her hair in an elegant bun with dozens upon dozens of crystals in it. She greets the room with her usual grace and dignity as she approaches the head of her table, followed by her bodyguard, executioner, and niece, Poplital. She’s dressed in a tight, corseted crimson gown with detached sleeves that nicely show off her impressive muscles, rubies decorating her long brown hair.

Alex stiffens at the sight of her, doesn’t let her out of his sight as she moves to the side opposite the Queen. He can’t help it; she makes him nervous. It’s more than how she’d helped Teave try to kidnap Michael all those years ago. There’s something about her that scares him, almost more than Teave does. She always gives him the briefest of looks; an icy stare and a cruel smirk, mocking him and taunting him with what she knows. She could derail everything if she were to reveal that Michael and the twins are still alive. Alex suspects the only reason she hasn’t is that having waited so long already would reflect poorly on her. But it’s clear she takes pleasure in knowing that Alex is suffering, and would happily inflict more of it on him if she could.

Teave’s voice fills Alex’s mind suddenly, reminding him that he doesn’t know Poplital personally. He’s met her in passing and nothing more. He’s only nervous around her because she’s the executioner and watching the execution all those months ago frightened him. That’s what everyone thinks, and he must not give them reason to think otherwise. He diverts his attention away, back to Queen Maga where it belongs. Watches as she invites everyone to sit and join her for dinner.

As always, Teave decides what Alex will and will not eat. A special bowl is set before each consort, intended to collect anything their spouse decides they will not be allowed to eat. When Teave does remove anything, he often claims it is toxic to humans. Alex has no way to confirm his claim, but he doesn’t see any other reason for him to do it. After all, refusing anything from the Queen would be rude otherwise.

Dinner is uneventful. It consists of all the usual chatter, the elites of the Collective basking in their luxury and congratulating themselves on being masters of the universe. Alex remains silent and tries to remember everything he’s been taught about antaran table etiquette. Eats his meal and keeps his eyes on the table, never once letting on that he’s anything more than what they assume. 

Once dinner is over, there’s a brief interlude in another of the Queen’s parlors. More gossiping and quiet chitchat. Sipping fancy alien alcohol and smoking something that doesn’t smell exactly like tobacco, but close to it. Relaxing and letting their meal settle while some elegant orchestra plays for them. To Alex, it feels like the right time to wind down and end the evening; he could lay down and fall asleep right now. To the elites of Antar, it’s a momentary rest. Soon they’ll be expected to change their outfits again and take things to one of the ballrooms for another few hours. That’s when Teave will be presenting Alex to Queen Maga and formally requesting a blessing for their marriage. Alex reminds himself of that every time his eyes begin to feel heavy.

At long last, the Queen announces that it’s time to head into the ballroom. Alex and Teave return to the train again, and Alex buries the dread as it tries to rise up. Goes through every breathing exercise and grounding technique he can remember. Reminds himself that this is a mission. The most vital one he’s ever undertaken. He can’t afford any mistakes right now. Not a single one.

“I’ll be going in ahead of you,” Teave reminds him for about the millionth time. “Endavesculir will escort you in. You will not say a word and you will not move from where I put you. Understand?”

As Endy begins to undress him, Alex nods, “I understand, Teave. I won’t let you down.”

“Good,” Teaves says. “Now, one more time. What are you?”

“A consort of the High Court.”

“Your role?”

“To serve my Lord. In all things, I am an extension of your will and a symbol of your authority.”

“What must a good consort be?”

“Quiet. Delicate. Obedient.”

Teave smiles and squeezes his shoulder, “Perfect, _perfect,_ Alex. You’ve got it.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve been doubting me, Teave,” Alex replies. “That’s not like you.”

Teave snickers, “Save the snark for when we’re home. You’ve got a role to play right now.”

“Hooah,” Alex sighs.

Teave kisses his forehead before departing. Endy gets to work dressing Alex for the Presentation, assisted by two other servants and the tailor who made his dress. The other two servants—Lahey, a bald, olive skinned woman in her forties and Hepat, a boy no older than twenty with light brown skin and long brown curls—hurry to clean the polish from Alex’s nails as Endy washes away the makeup from his face. The tailor busies himself readying the dress. They work in perfect synchrony, not one of them getting in another’s way for even an instant. Alex supposes that’s the benefit of having full access to the Collective Consciousness; everything is coordinated without needing to actually discuss it. 

As Lahey and Hepat paint a solid coat of glossy black on Alex’s nails, Endy takes care of his eyes and lips. The makeup is all pitch black, with a not so subtle sparkle over it all. A single, small diamond is placed on the center of each nail and a handful more decorate his cheekbones. The strapless dress is black as well, covered in star shaped diamonds with crescent moons lining the bodice. It’s sleeveless and backless, the gold seal embedded between his shoulders on full display. The final neuro-bridge is a diamond encrusted gold choker, and a matching chain is draped around his chest and down his arms. The many gold rings and earrings he’d been wearing all night are swapped out for star shaped diamonds, and of course the gold cuff is placed around his wrist. Teave has gone all out to create the obvious visual symbolism of Alex having come “from the stars” as he likes to say.

“Are you ready?” Endy asks.

“I’ve spent my entire life having to prove myself to people,” Alex replies. “I can handle the Queen of Diamonds.”

Endy nods, “Then let’s go.”

The other three say nothing, but they each offer Alex a small smile and a supportive squeeze of the shoulder as he follows Endy out of the car. She leads him into the ballroom, the crowd parting for them as they make their way forward. At the far end of the room, Queen Maga waits on her throne. Poplital stands to her right, the Council—dressed in the same formal uniform they’d worn to the execution months ago—are to her left. Teave is standing before her, dressed identically to the rest of the Council. Though his heart is pounding, Alex keeps his pace steady, his posture perfect and his face neutral the entire way. When they reach Teave’s side, Endy steps away and Alex kneels at his feet exactly as he’s been taught to. Folds his hands neatly in his lap, bows his head just slightly to indicate he understands that he is beneath them. Eyes to the floor. Quiet. Delicate. Obedient. Ignoring the discomfort the position creates for his leg. He hasn’t come this far just to fail now.

Once Alex is positioned properly, Teave begins making his formal request for the Queen’s blessing. He starts by recounting his own warped version of how he and Alex met. His claims of _finding_ him at a “macabre human festival.”

“They don costumes depicting the very monsters they tell their young of at bedtime and celebrate with games and sweets. They believe that doing so will give them the strength to overcome these imaginary monsters.”

The other members of the Court murmur quietly among themselves, amused by his description. Alex does not react.

“I was very surprised,” Teave goes on, “when _he_ approached _me_ while I searched for the traitors. Even those humans that would be considered alphas had run from me, and he certainly wasn’t one of them.”

Soft chuckles fill the room, the very thought of Alex as an “alpha” apparently funny to them. Ironic, he thinks, that his father of all people would agree with them wholeheartedly. He remains quiet.

“Initially it was just entertaining, having him around, but he proved himself to be quite useful. It’s difficult to obtain information from humans. They’re quick to panic and their thoughts are messy. He was different, and the more I trained him, the more information I was able to obtain about the whereabouts of the traitors.”

He pauses there, dramatically. Drawing out the tale as he always does. Though the Queen and the Council have already heard this vaguely-truth-adjacent tale in Teave’s debriefings, the crowd hangs on every word. Alex waits patiently, obediently, at Teave’s feet.

“Most died when their ship crashed. Those that survived were killed by humans who thought they were those monsters they so fear.”

The crowd seems pleased by this, glad that those they deemed “traitors” suffered the indignity of being killed by such an _inferior_ species.

“I had hoped that the children—including my dear brother, Prince Rath—could still be found and brought back to civilization,” Teave says. He pauses again and sighs sadly, “But it was too late. They’d been lost already, their pods destroyed by the Decaying Disease.”

Alex doesn’t know much about the Decaying Disease. Just that it’s the only known illness capable of afflicting antarans. A plague of some sort long ago that wiped out their ancient civilizations and led to the rise of the Collective Consciousness. At least, that’s what he’s been taught. Just the mention of it fills the room with gasps and whispers of horror. It works both to explain away any questions about what happened to the refugees and to keep the Collective from considering Earth as a potential target. Just as Teave promised, no further harm will come to Alex’s family.

Teave continues on, tells them about how he grew to care for Alex and saw potential in him. Explains how even though Alex is a “lower life form,” he envisioned a place for him on Antar. At his side. Knew that, if given the chance, the rest of the Court would see it too.

“Humans are an unusual species. Prone to irrational behavior. Most will either collapse in terror or resort to aggression if any attempt to properly civilize them is made. Alex is an exceedingly rare case; extensive discipline has been required, but I believe the results speak for themselves.”

“You make a compelling argument, Lord Teave,” Queen Maga remarks. “And despite its _difficult_ beginning, your human has proven itself a loyal companion. Has learned our ways surprisingly well. You should certainly be proud of yourself for how well you’ve taught it.”

Teave bows his head respectfully, “Thank you, your majesty.”

“Even so,” the Queen says, “there are many creatures that can be trained to follow orders. Obedience alone, does not a consort make. And I cannot allow you to wed a creature solely on the basis of its obedience if it does not comprehend what marriage is.”

“Of course not, your majesty,” Teave replies. “I assure you, Alex knows what I’ve brought him here for.”

“Good. Look to me, human,” the Queen orders.

Alex obeys, lifting his gaze just enough to meet hers. He keeps his expression blank.

“Stand,” she says.

He doesn’t hesitate to rise to his feet, only breaking his proper posture just enough to adjust his leg. He does it so quickly no one seems to mind it.

“Do you understand all of this?”

Alex nods.

“Tell me then, in your own words, what you are here for.”

For once glad that he’s been forced to endure the neuro-bridge so frequently, Alex says, “Lord Teave has chosen to make me his consort.”

“Then you know, of course, what a consort _is?”_ She asks.

“An extension of my lord’s will and a symbol of his authority.”

The Queen laughs, “Your recitations do not prove your comprehension, human. Do you _know_ what a consort _is?”_

Beside him, Alex senses the slightest apprehension from Teave. Clearly he hadn’t expected the Queen to be so thorough in her questioning. Hadn’t considered that she’d want to be sure that if she approves the marriage, Alex isn’t just a well-trained circus animal.

He doesn’t hesitate and says, “I am here to be Lord Teave’s mate. And we humans mate for life, just as you do, your majesty.”

They don’t need to know that that’s not always true.

Though a few people seem scandalized by Alex’s boldness, Queen Maga nods, satisfied by the answer, and asks, “And do you desire this?”

“It is an honor to be at Lord Teave’s side,” Alex replies, “wherever he places me.”

“As it should be,” the Queen says. “But do _you,_ Alex, _desire_ to be his consort?”

Alex nods once, “I do, your majesty.”

They don’t need to know that that’s not at all true.

“And Lord Teave? You desire to make this human your consort?”

“Yes, your majesty,” Teave says, all traces of his apprehension gone.

Queen Maga smiles an oddly sincere smile, “Very well. Then I, Queen Maga the Eighth of House Sepsimia, declare that in one year’s time, Lord Teave of House Esmarch and the human Alex shall be forever wed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you (and government agents watching my computer) all like being spammed with fashion!
> 
> Alex's piercings:  
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> Accessories during the portrait painting:  
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> Outfit upon arriving at the Queen's castle:  
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> Dinner dress & necklace:  
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> Teave's suits (before & during dinner)  
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> Queen Maga's gown:  
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> Poplital's dress:  
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> And finally, Alex's presentation dress:  
> 


	27. glitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex and Teave's wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry everyone, a lot's happened in the last few weeks (including at long last the projected end of this hellish presidency!! lol sorry non-Americans I'm sure you're tired of hearing it) but I have returned with the latest update!
> 
> This chapter is very emotional and contains heavy amounts of victim/self blame and the end of it contains a large segment of (non-graphic) rape, beginning at "Teave wastes no time" and ending at "long after it's over" although that last bit might be potentially triggering as well as it focuses on Alex's emotional state afterward.

Alex Manes never fully believed that the day would come when he would wake in the morning and think to himself, _this is my wedding day._ Oh, certainly there were moments. Brief, fleeting moments when the possibility flitted through his brain. Most of those moments—all, if he’s being honest—involved one Michael Guerin. Teenage dreams and momentary lapses in realism. Never in his life did he feel with wholehearted certainty that it would ever happen. Now that the day has come, he’s most decidedly not ready for it.

He stays in bed longer than he’s supposed to, huddled under the blankets and trying to accept the fact that it’s really happening. He’s getting married today. In just a few hours, he’ll be a married man. Married to a prince, at that. A handsome warrior prince who could gift him an entire planet with ease if he so chose. It should be a dream come true. In reality, it’s a nightmare.

“Alex,” Endy says softly, standing beside his bed. “If you don’t start getting ready now, he’ll be angry with you.”

“I know,” Alex whispers with his back to her, unable to take his eyes off the wall. “I just need one more minute.”

He hasn’t slept well. The first half of the night was spent crying, sobbing pathetically into his pillow as though that would somehow solve his problem. Take away the pain and the fear and the absolute despair eating away at him. For the second half, Alex was trapped in a deep yet restless sleep by the antaran mixture known as Sleeping Syrup. His nightmares all took full advantage and violated him all through the remainder of the night, leaving his body rested but his mind battered. But then, that’s just his constant state of being nowadays. He really ought to be used to it by now, he thinks.

With a deep, heavy exhale, he slowly forces himself to sit up. Offers Endy a weak smile, who returns it with one equally as pathetic and hugs him tight. It’s commendable, her attempt to hide her tears, but ultimately futile. Her eyes are red and shining and she keeps swallowing down the lump in her throat as she helps Alex from the bed and into the bathroom. She busies herself with preparing the bath so he can have the privacy to relieve himself. He looks over his reflection as he washes his hands after and wonders if Teave will be annoyed by the dark circles forming under his eyes. Most likely not; they’ll be hidden under too much makeup in just a short while anyway. 

Once the tub has been filled with warm water and whatever scented salts and oils Teave has instructed her to use, Endy brings Alex over to it and helps him in. She tries to keep her hands steady and soft as she washes him down, but despite her best efforts she can’t quite keep them from shaking. Somehow, the fact that she’s as nervous as he is is the most reassuring thing Alex has felt since the Queen approved the engagement in the first place. It’s easier to be strong, he supposes, when he has someone to be strong _for._

“It’s gonna be alright,” he says, voice trembling. “This is …this is what we’ve been preparing for, right? It’s why I’m here. This is how I keep my family safe.”

“Yeah,” Endy whispers. “I just hope they understand how lucky they are to’ve had you.”

Alex forces another smile and squeezes her hand. Not lucky at all, he wants to reply; he was the reason they were in danger in the first place. His misery is nothing but a reprisal of that which he had brought upon them. She doesn’t need to know that, though. Doesn’t need to know that Michael is really Rath. That Max and Isobel are Zan and Vilandra. Those are details that could get them killed if they ever got out. Endy would never use them, but if she were to ever let them slip, even accidentally, it would ruin everything. So Alex will never share that part of the story. He’ll take those secrets to his grave. 

Endy takes her time washing him. Stretches out the process as long as she can, buying Alex as much time as possible to get his head together. But they have a lot to do and there’s only so long she can stall for. Once he’s clean, she pats him dry and massages various lotions and moisturizers into his skin, applies a cream-like facial mask to his skin. She fetches a small box containing the piercings chosen for him today; gold vines with diamond leaves for his nipples and navel, and a simple diamond studded gold ring for his nose. An endless array of diamond studs and hoops for his ears and—however much he hates it—genitals. Despite custom dictating that Endy should be doing everything for him, she lets Alex hold onto his dignity and place them himself. Then she brings him his prosthetic and a soft, fluffy robe before helping him back into the bedroom to sit until it’s time to leave.

He won’t be getting dressed here. Under normal circumstances, he would be. A High Court wedding typically takes place at the family’s castle, the officiant a Council member selected by the crown. But Alex’s circumstances are never normal, never typical. Queen Maga has taken such a liking to him that the wedding is set to take place in _her_ castle and she herself will preside over it. Her way of _honoring_ him for his service. A phrase that, as on Earth, means gifting him with something flashy while in no way actually helping him. Still, Alex being _honored_ pleases Teave, helps his chances of claiming the throne. And that, in its own way, does help Alex, and he’ll just have to be grateful for whatever small victories he can get.

“Lord Teave is on his way to the train,” Endy says. “We have to leave now.”

Inhaling deeply in hopes of keeping his voice steady, Alex replies, “Okay.”

She helps him to his feet and hugs him again, then makes her way to the door. He takes one last look around his bedroom, knowing that after today he won’t be returning to it. Today, he marries. Tonight, he moves into Teave’s bedroom with him. Tonight, he surrenders his body to his husband’s desires. It shouldn’t bother him, any of it. He’s known for years that this was coming. Been preparing for it. Nothing’s changing, not really. He’s just going to be sleeping in a different room is all. It’s just that, somehow, he’s come to love this room. It’s his. His sanctuary, the one place he feels free. Which is, of course, ridiculous. Like everything else in the castle, Alex’s room belongs to Teave. He can’t even get to it without going through Teave’s bedroom. The shelter it offers has only ever been an illusion. As for consummating the marriage, well … 

Alex knows he shouldn’t be worried about that either. He’s slept with Teave a thousand times over back on Earth. He knows what to expect from him. He knows that Teave likes it rough, likes to leave Alex bruised and breathless. He can handle that. He’s done so many times before. There’s nothing for him to be afraid of. This isn’t anything different. Just because he’s been untouched for two years and in the past he’d believed that Teave was an entirely different person doesn’t mean anything. Alex isn’t afraid of what’s coming tonight. He isn’t.

He tells himself that the entire walk to the train station. Tells himself that when Teave plants one last kiss on him and tells him they’ll see each other soon. Again as he boards the train with Endy, escorted by two guards and joined by Lahey and Hepat. And again as he sits, rests his head on Endy’s shoulder and tries to relax. She strokes his hair and gently extends her mind into his, coaxing him to sleep. A quick nap, surrounded by nothing but the pleasant images she conjures to soothe him until they arrive at the Queen’s castle.

When they do arrive, they’ve not a moment to waste. They have only a few short hours to prepare and every second counts. If anything is less than absolute perfection, the blame will land on the servants; the punishment for ruining what’s meant to be the most glorious wedding Antar has seen in decades would no doubt be unthinkable.

He’s brought directly to the room allotted to him. It’s an exquisite room, with furniture as extravagant as anywhere else in the High Court. The walls are an icy shade of gray and the soft, feathery carpet is white and gold. There are plenty of decorations, none quite so eye catching as the elegant chandelier overhead, a spiral of diamonds cascading downward in the center of the room. The Queen’s private sitting room, shared only with those she deems the most worthy. The fact that she’s allowing him to set foot in here—much less use it as a dressing room—speaks wonders. Why she’s so fond of him, Alex isn’t sure. It goes beyond the debt of her being alive because of him; she actually _likes_ him. He doesn’t understand it, but he doesn’t have the luxury of questioning it either. 

Queen Maga’s servants aren’t quite as gentle with him as Endy, Lahey and Hepat are. They’re careful and efficient, trying to accommodate him as well as they can, but they don’t know him the way Teave’s servants do. They’re uncertain of how they should handle him, nervous about touching his leg. Endy takes the lead, though, and they follow along with her as they prepare him.

“How’re you holding up?” She asks, cleaning the cream mask from his face and unconcerned about the anxious looks she gets from the Queen’s servants for speaking his language.

Alex shrugs, “I’m marrying an egomaniac, I’m about to be painted in sparkles, and I have diamonds on my dick. So, not great.”

She squeezes his hand, “Well, you haven’t let go of that sense of humor.”

“Gotta hold on to something,” He remarks.

“I am so sorry, Alex,” Endy whispers.

“It’s a wedding,” he says, kissing her forehead, “not an execution.”

“We’d better hurry or it will be,” Endy mutters, hugging him one last time. The ceremony isn’t meant to start until the afternoon, but they have a great deal to get done in that time.

He’s given a minute to use the bathroom again before they start and he finds himself struggling not to vomit. The terror is growing harder to hold back and he’s almost relieved that he hasn’t been permitted to eat yet today. Custom dictates that a consort-to-be shall be fed only after the ceremony is completed and they are officially bound to their spouse. It’ll be hours before that happens and until then, Alex will take an empty stomach over a nauseous one. He’s gone hungry enough times in his life to handle a few hours.

They start by spraying a fine mist of silver glitter over him, coating his hair and body, head to toe. Once he firmly resembles a certain teenage vampire, they begin dressing him. There are no traditional colors for weddings on Antar, but Teave has naturally had a white gown made for him. Strapless with a corset top decorated in diamonds, so tight he can barely breathe in it. The wide, flowing skirt sparkles like snow in the sunlight, the long train trailing behind him whenever he moves. Alex almost hates to admit how beautiful the dress actually is. 

His nails and makeup come next. Several colors of sparkling polish are applied to each nail; dark blue at the tips, growing lighter until the base is a soft shade of silver. Though the glitter on his body is mostly subtle, another coating of it is added to his face, creating a soft, silvery white mask of sparkles. They add a thick, heavy layer of glittering black eye makeup and a coat of metallic black lipstick. Two small black gems are lined vertically above and beneath the center of each eye. While no one but the two of them will have any idea, the makeup Teave has selected for him serves as an excellent mockery of what Alex had been wearing the night they met. Further proof that Teave has no limits when it comes to reminding him who is in control. As if Alex _needs_ reminding.

There are only a few antaran customs regarding his clothing that must be adhered to. When a consort is married into the High Court, the crown will often lend them something for the ceremony, a symbolic show of their approval. For Alex, Queen Maga has allowed the use of a band of sparkling crystals that wraps around his forehead. Teave has had a neuro-bridge designed to match it; a chain of diamonds wrapped around his neck and dangling down his chest and shoulders. The consort-to-be is also expected to wear them something—typically a bracelet or other piece of jewelry—from their old life as an _offering_ to their spouse; Teave has saved for Alex the simple black wrist watch he’d been wearing the day they left Earth. It sits on his right wrist, looking pitifully out of place next to everything else.

The rest is simpler. He’s given a pair of fingerless, white lace gloves embedded with a series of white pearls that reach up to his elbows. Though trinkets like engagement rings aren’t part of antaran culture, the flower shaped diamond that Teave gave to him rests heavy on Alex’s finger. One of the Queen’s servants takes the time to clean the glitter off of the gold insignia in his back, ensuring that House Esmarch’s crest shines clearly and unimpeded.

It’s a lengthy process and by the time Endy and the others are finished preparing him, Alex can barely recognize himself. He tries not to imagine what would be said of him if he was seen this way on Earth. The things his father would say. The way he’d mock and deride him. He stares at his reflection for several minutes, instead wondering how it came to this. How he became this person, whose only use is in being a plaything for someone else. Who has no identity beyond what is given to him by his captor. Enslaved to a monster to protect those he loves. Then again, is it really all that different from his time in the Air Force? Serving a cause he doesn’t believe in, helping to murder the innocent who dare to be different than those in power. The only real change is that his role had been active then, instead of passive obedience. Perhaps, he thinks, it's karmic that he wound up here. No one can leave a trail of death and despair the way he has without facing consequences sooner or later, after all. 

“Oh, Alex,” Endy whispers, “please don’t cry.”

She can’t hug him without messing up the glitter coating his skin, so she uses her powers to give him a light squeeze.

He sucks in a deep breath, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to ruin all your hard work.”

He tries to calm himself and hold still as Hepat dabs gently at his eyes with a handkerchief.

“You know that isn’t what I meant,” Endy says. She forces a laugh, “But since you brought it up, yes, you’ll ruin our hard work. And it’s _great_ work.”

“Excellent work,” Alex replies. “If I’d picked any of this myself I’d love it. Really.”

“Naturally,” Endy teases, “we _are_ very good at what we do.”

“The best,” Alex agrees. “Just the best.”

They have just a few minutes to spare before the ceremony will begin. A few minutes for Alex to remind himself of everything that he has to do. To remind himself _why_ he’s doing this, what makes it all worth it. What’s at stake. The life of everyone he loves depends on him getting through this. Through today, tomorrow. The next day. The next year. Decade. He must play this role to perfection for the rest of his life. That _is_ his life now. In a few minutes, he’s going to be escorted to the ceremony. He’s going to marry Teave. He is going to serve him, be the perfect consort, until the day he dies. There’s nothing else to it, no changing it. He can’t escape. No one is coming to rescue him. This is his life now. It’s time Alex accepted it.

A pair of guards—Captain Maresper and a woman Alex doesn’t know, both in the same black uniform Maresper had worn to the execution—arrive soon to escort Alex to the garden where the ceremony will be held. Teave and the Council and all of the guests are already waiting for him. As they all are, the garden is glorious. A series of streams wind through the grass, criss-crossing to create almost a dozen smaller fields. The streams all meet in the middle to form a large pond, fountains spraying water up in several places. Each of the fields—connected by ornate bridges over each stream—is filled with flowers, creating the illusion that it’s a natural meadow. Alex can see the patterns, though; the way the flowers are kept neat and orderly, the way they’re organized to keep the colors from clashing.

In the largest of the fields—brimming with pink and orange flowers—an elaborate gold and white throne has been set up for the Queen. The guests—seated in decorative chairs throughout the other fields—are all dressed to the nines, wearing colorful gowns and suits and adorned in all sorts of fine jewels. Strategically placed around them are a dozen or so servants, each holding the strange blue spheres that antarans somehow use to record images and videos. Four painters have also been placed a short way away from the altar to capture the ceremony. Alex isn’t sure why they insist on paintings all the time when those spheres recreate every detail through exquisite holographic projections, but he supposes that, like on Earth, it’s just a matter of rich people being that way.

As always during a formal affair such as this, the Council members are dressed in their ceremonial black and gold uniforms, standing to the left of the Queen’s throne. To the right of the throne is the Queen’s daughter and new executioner, Bremi, dressed in a sparkling blue suit. Queen Maga’s gown looks as though it was made from white feathers, with gold stones sparkling throughout, and the very same gold and diamond crown she’d worn at Alex’s trial well over a year ago sits atop her head. Just in front of her throne is a gold altar with three large basins waiting on top of it, their colors each corresponding to one of Antar’s three moons. All of it has Alex feeling small and fighting with himself not to run.

As dictated by tradition, he’s to give the appearance of a captive preparing to pledge his loyalty; Maresper and the other guard each have him by one arm as they walk him to the altar. When they reach it, they lower Alex to his knees in front of it with the same caution used in moving a glass object. He folds himself into the proper posture, his eyes glued to the flowers around him. He squeezes his eyes shut, some childish part of him hoping that when he opens them again, this day and the two years leading to it will have been nothing but a bad dream. 

Queen Maga rises from her throne and stands behind the altar, “Honored elites of Antar, I welcome you. Today we gather to accept this being into our ranks, at the behest of our esteemed Lord Teave, Prince of House Esmarch.”

The crowd applauds politely at Teave’s name. Alex keeps his head down, as he’s supposed to, but he knows that Teave is approaching him now as well. Standing over him in front of the altar as the Queen describes him and his life. Sums up his childhood and early accomplishments; normally, a parent or elder member of the House would take this role, but as Teave has none, Queen Maga has chosen to do so herself. Once she’s done with her short biography of Teave, the members of the Council step up to sing his praises. They take their time, each wanting to be in the limelight as long as possible as they recount the times he’s been honored as a warrior and as a politician, the battles he’s helped the Collective Consciousness win. Tell the _glorious_ tale of how he proved his loyalty after Queen Mara was deposed by turning in the _traitors_ —including his own family—who fled during the last war. How he prevented dozens, maybe hundreds of others from escaping along with the other refugees. Then, Queen Maga relays the story of how Teave killed his own father, who had used the last of his power to ensure the ship was able to take off.

When they are finished, and each member of the Council has told a tale of Teave’s greatness, it’s his turn to speak. He rehashes the story of how he “found” Alex and lists off all the qualities that make him a suitable consort. Describes the process of “training” him, which he calls _arduous but gratifying._ He talks about how Alex has proven himself to belong; proven that he’s quiet, delicate and obedient. He reminds them again—as if anyone has forgotten—how he escaped from and exposed the Alighting. How he helped the Queen fend off her would-be assassin. 

The ever faithful audience thrives with every word, their reactions so perfectly in tune Alex wouldn’t be surprised if he looked up to find cue cards dictating them. He doesn’t move an inch through it all, remaining as proper as their idea of him demands. Gives the impression that his feats are nothing more than incidental side effects of his desperation to remain at Teave’s side as a loyal, obedient consort. A perfect coincidence that further proves the Collective’s greatness. They can’t get enough of it.

It feels like forever, all the speeches. All the basking in their glory and explaining why Alex _deserves_ to be _accepted_ as one of them. How he—despite being _inferior—_ has proven his worth. The whole thing goes on for almost two hours. It’s all very traditional. At modern High Court weddings, Endy’s told him, the consort-to-be no longer _needs_ to prove their worth. Instead, stories are told of their proper upbringing and how it’s only _natural_ that they marry into the High Court. This is much closer to the old days, when the imprisoned consorts had to prove that they’d been properly _trained_ and their loyalty _true._ Prove that they were thoroughly broken, that is. It’s much the same for Alex. The only real difference is that—as far as they’re concerned—Alex didn’t need to be _broken in,_ just _civilized._

“The time has come,” Queen Maga announces, “for Lord Teave and the human Alex to be joined together in eternal unity.”

Alex cooperates with Maresper and the other guard as they lift him to his feet, then clasps his hands behind his back. He does not lift his head.

“Lord Teave,” she continues, “you have claimed this being to keep as your consort.”

“I have,” Teave confirms.

“It is your intention to have it remain at your side until its dying breath; to serve as the foremost extension of your will and symbol of your authority.”

“It is.”

“This decision was made in good judgement; unclouded by lust, greed, or pride beyond that of the might of Collective Consciousness.”

“It was.”

“You have indoctrinated this being to the ways of the Collective Consciousness. Taught it its proper place and duties as a consort of the High Court.”

“I have.”

“In return for the faithful fulfilling of these duties, you will safeguard and shelter this being, for it cannot do so itself.”

“I will.”

“Then present your chosen consort to me,” the Queen instructs, “so that it may voice its devotion in return for yours.”

Teave reaches out and grabs hold of Alex’s chin, then tilts his head up so that he’s able to properly look at the Queen. Alex remains still as Teave withdraws his hand. Does nothing to show how much he resents all of this as he opens his eyes.

“Human Alex,” Queen Maga goes on, “you accept your place as Lord Teave’s chosen consort.”

“I do,” Alex says. He’s trapped in limbo; on the one hand, he only has one line to remember for the entire ceremony, leaving almost no chance he’ll mess it up. On the other, it has to be _those_ two words. 

“You pledge to remain at his side until your dying breath; to be, in all things, an extension of his will and a symbol of his authority.”

“I do.”

“You swear that this desire is born of your own acceptance of your proper place, as chosen by your Lord, and not for selfish gain.”

“I do.”

“You promise to live your life for him and the glory of the Collective Consciousness, forsaking the life you lead before this day and relinquishing all that was once yours.”

“I do.”

“You vow to fulfill all duties expected of you, to obey and serve your Lord, and trust in his decisions, for you cannot make them for yourself.”

“I do.”

Queen Maga turns her attention to the crowd, “With this exchange of vow, these two souls take their first step toward eternal unity. Now they prove the faithfulness of this sacred oath.”

Teave removes a long matchstick from his coat and passes it to her. She strikes it on the altar and lowers it into the silver basin on Teave and Alex’s left. Bright flames spring forth and they both take a step closer to the altar. Alex glances down at the three basins; while brightly colored crystals keep the fire burning inside the silver basin, a jewel encrusted dagger sits in the red basin to the right, and the gold basin in the center contains a translucent white gel. He isn’t sure what it’s called, but it’s a component of the mixture that fills the pods and serves as a highly effective hemostatic agent. 

The three basins represent the key element of their vows; Alex’s vow of submission, and Teave’s to guard him in return. Teave reaches into the red basin to claim the knife. With his free hand, he takes hold of Alex’s chin again, tilting his head back until his throat is exposed. Alex holds his breath, tries not to let any fear or tension show as the blade is brought to his throat. It’s just part of the ceremony, he reminds himself. It was explained to him many times; to prove his devotion, he must place his life completely in Teave’s hands. Endure a potentially fatal wound, trusting that Teave will take care of him. Of course, there is another side to it. A reminder that, should he try to hold himself above Teave—lift his head without permission, so to speak—only pain and death will follow.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch, when Teave cuts him. It’s not deep. Teave wouldn’t want any blood spilled on the dress, after all. And the pain, sharp as it may be, is nothing he can’t endure. So he doesn’t move, even as the blood drips slowly down his neck, kept from reaching his finery by Teave’s powers. Teave runs the blade across his own palm next, demonstrating how that which harms Alex harms him as well. 

Teave places the knife—now glazed with a mix of their blood—back in the red basin, then holds his bloodied hand out to Alex. In return, Alex gives him his right hand and Teave raises it over their heads, putting Alex’s watch on clear display.

“Upon his wrist,” Teave announces, “my consort wears a jewel from his old life.”

“Do you surrender this jewel and leave the old behind?” Queen Maga asks.

“I do,” Alex replies.

Teave guides Alex’s hand to the silver basin and holds it over the flames. This part is harder to withstand; though the fire isn’t quite touching his skin, Alex can feel it burning him just the same. It’s hard to keep his mind in the present, to stay out of his memory and focus on what he needs to do. He’s not buried under rubble, gasping for breath and slowly dying. This is different. It’ll only be another moment. He’s just providing more proof that he will obey Teave even when it hurts. Even when it means losing the last connection he had to Earth, no matter how tiny.

There’s no reason to be upset about the watch. He hadn’t known until a few days ago that Teave still had it. It doesn’t even work anymore, the battery long dead. But it’s _his._ It’s all that’s left of himself. And now, as Teave uses his powers to break the band and allow it to fall properly into the fire, it’s gone. Which, he knows, is the point. His old life is long gone. The watch is burning hideously, the strange alien crystals speeding the process. It’s not quite disintegrating or melting, but rotting and twisting into ...what, he’s not sure. But it’s rapidly becoming a crude, almost mocking husk of what it once was. Unrecognizable, just like him.

Alex barely holds back his sigh of relief when Teave finally pulls his hand away from the fire. It’s almost over. The ceremony is reaching its final stage, and soon things will shift to just another exquisite antaran celebration.

“As your consort has fulfilled its oath to you,” Queen Maga says, “so too shall you, Lord Teave.”

Teave dips his injured hand into the gold basin, the smooth white substance halting his bleeding. He reaches out and smears a small amount of it over the cut on Alex’s neck, proving his intention to never let Alex come to harm. From behind the gold basin, he pulls out the gold cuff with House Esmarch’s crest in it. He places it on Alex’s wrist in place of the watch, replacing his old self with his new one.

“The bond is complete!” Queen Maga declares. “From this moment forth, until time’s end, Lord Teave of House Esmarch and his consort, Sir Alex of House Esmarch, are joined as one!”

Finishing the ceremony with a kiss isn’t necessary. It isn’t a requirement of the ritual. But it isn’t uncommon, either, and Teave wastes no time grabbing Alex by the shoulders and yanking him in for a hard, bruising kiss. Feebly, Alex kisses back, just enough that the cheering crowd around them believes he means it. He grips the front of Teave’s coat to keep balanced, suddenly feeling lightheaded and unsteady. The spectators, of course, take it as an attempt to be closer to Teave and Alex wants more than anything to just disappear altogether.

He doesn’t get to do that, though. There are still things he has to do.

Mingling comes first. Accepting everyone’s congratulations and comments about how Teave has truly done a stunning job with Alex. For his part, Alex puts on his shrinking violet act, smiling shyly and hiding his face like he’s bashful whenever anyone speaks to him. They love it. Assume he must be overwhelmed by his happiness. He’s just glad that none of them are permitted to touch him at the moment; there will be a special part of the celebration later tonight when Teave will _lend_ Alex to another member of the Council for a dance. Then Alex will dance with _their_ consort. After that, the Council member Teave selected first—Alex thinks it will be Kelico—will have the honor of choosing the next member. And so on, until Alex has danced with the entire Council and their consorts. As the officiant, Queen Maga will be last and will _return him_ to Teave, symbolizing that he is officially one of them. Until then, no one but Teave and his servants may touch him.

As soon as the appropriate amount of small talk is made, the guests are called to another garden for what Alex can only compare to a cocktail hour. At the thought of food, he tries to ignore his stomach suddenly reminding him that he hasn’t eaten since dinner last night. There’re just a few hours to go before he can eat. Nothing he can’t handle.

Next he has to get through yet _another_ humiliating portrait. A small bench is positioned just in front of the center pond for him to sit on. He holds himself properly and Teave stands behind him, hands on Alex’s shoulders. All four artists are painting them from different angles to ensure that they get the exact perfect painting. They _could_ just use the recordings from the blue spheres for posterity as is common for smaller events. They’re projected onto enormous, framed screens and even have moving images running on a loop; Teave was none too pleased the first time Alex saw one and made a joke about Hogwarts. For some reason Alex can only assume has to do with the arrogance of the gentry, High Court elites insist on painted portraits in addition to their recordings.

When at last Teave wraps his arm around him and guides him back to the castle, Alex feels like he’s outside of his own body. He feels sick. Wants to throw himself to the floor like a child and scream and cry until he wakes up and this whole nightmare is over. That’s never going to happen, he tells himself over and over again. This isn’t a nightmare. It’s real. This is his life. The life _he_ chose. The consequences of his own actions. He brought this all on himself and he needs to live with it, whether he likes it or not.

Once they’re alone—back in Alex’s dressing room—Teave pulls Alex in for another kiss. He doesn’t kiss back this time, but he doesn’t try to resist either. He suspects that after tonight, however, he’ll be expected to return Teave’s affections properly even in private.

“You did well, little bunny,” Teave says. “Completely flawless.”

It takes Alex a moment to find his voice and answer, “Did you doubt me?”

Teave chuckles, “Never. But you did look awfully sick before we left.”

“Doesn’t everyone get pre-wedding jitters?” Alex asks, forcing a smile.

“Not me,” Teave replies. “I’ve been dreaming of this day for _years._ Speaking of which …”

He digs through his coat pocket and pulls out a gold ring. Engraved with roses and encrusted with tiny diamonds, it nicely matches the engagement ring Teave gave him last year. Alex doesn’t like to think about that night. About the way Teave came to Alex’s room and sent Endy away, claiming he had something _special_ to celebrate gaining the Queen’s blessing. He’d pinned Alex down and Alex had been terrified that he’d changed his mind about waiting until their wedding night to touch him. Instead he’d slid the ring onto Alex’s finger and kissed him before bidding him goodnight. Though he’d been relieved, Alex had still spent the night sobbing into his pillow, the ring a vise around his finger.

Now, Teave removes the engagement ring and slides the band on him in its place. He takes a moment to admire it before putting Alex’s engagement ring back on him. Grinning at the sight, he pridefully kisses Alex’s fingers.

“Beautiful,” he breathes, “absolutely beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Alex whispers, voice empty. “Beautiful.”

He’d rather tear his own finger off than wear them. Not that that means anything to Teave. He has what he wants and nothing else matters to him. Alex can only try his hardest not to break down and ruin the illusion for everyone else. 

“It’s true,” Teave says. “You are _stunning.”_

“Thank you, Teave.”

Teave kisses him again and says, “Alright, my love, hard part’s over. It’s all smooth sailing from here. Now, I need to go and change for the banquet. You just rest and the servants will be here soon.”

“Yeah, okay,” Alex replies weakly.

The second Teave is out the door, Alex drops onto one of the fine white sofas. He can barely breathe, his lungs sucking air in erratically. He can’t stop shaking, tremors wracking his body violently. Heart pounding, he grips the fabric of the sofa and tries to get himself under control. This is not the time for an anxiety attack. He still has work to do. He needs to maintain his composure and get through the evening. Just a few more hours. Then they’ll be done for the night and he can go back to his room and freak out there.

Except, he can’t. He’s not going back to his room. It’s not his room anymore. He’s moving into _Teave’s_ room tonight. Tonight he’s going to …they’re going to … 

He jumps to his feet and runs to the bathroom. Heaves into the toilet, coughing up bile and the remnants of last night’s dinner. He gasps and coughs and collapses into a wreck on the floor and sobs. He’s not ready for this. He can’t do it. He can’t do it.

Sitting up, he screams into his hands. He can’t _do_ this. He forces himself up off the floor and runs back into the sitting room, tearing at the dress as he does. Rips the wretched, uncomfortable thing off and tosses the pieces to the floor as he goes. He throws the stupid bracelet aside and tugs off the gloves. Wipes at the makeup covering his face. Wrenches the rings from his finger and throws them as far from himself as he can.

He flings open the door to the rest of the castle and stumbles through it. Almost falls flat on his face. He’s not expecting the arms that catch him.

“Whoa, hey, slow down, Alex,” Michael says, steading him carefully.

“Guerin?” Alex neither knows nor cares whether he’s dreaming or not. He clings to Michael and presses his face into his chest and whimpers, _“Oh, Michael.”_

Michael wraps his arms around him and soothes, “Hey, it’s alright. It’s okay. What’re you doing out so late?”

“What?”

Alex looks up and glances around. They’re not in the Queen’s castle anymore. They’re on the front porch of his cabin. It makes no sense. He doesn’t care.

“C’mon,” Michael says, gently pulling him inside, “let’s go back to bed, baby.”

“Bed?” Alex asks.

“I think you were sleepwalking or something,” Michael replies. “Has this ever happened before?”

“I don’t …know …”

He doesn’t even know _what’s_ happening, much less if it’s happened before. But he lets Michael bring him into his bedroom and help him onto the bed. He looks around the room, confused, but nothing seems out of place. Nothing out of the ordinary. Alex can’t remember what he’s so panicked about. What he was doing outside in the first place. His hands are still shaking, though, so he allows Michael to remove his prosthetic for him. It’s normal too, not colorful or shiny. He doesn’t know why it would be. Why he expected something different. 

Michael sits next to him and pulls him close, “That must’ve been some dream.”

“I …” Alex isn’t sure what to say. “I don’t remember …”

“That’s okay,” Michael says, kissing his temple. “It’s over now. Nothing to be scared of.”

Alex leans his head on Michael’s shoulder and sighs, “I’m so tired, Michael.”

“I know.”

“I think I need to sleep,” Alex says. “I wanna sleep.”

“So sleep, Alex,” Michael replies. “It’s okay. I’m here. You sleep.”

“But I can’t,” Alex whines. He doesn’t know why. Something is wrong and he doesn’t know what. “I can’t sleep.”

“Why not?” Michael asks.

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I can’t sleep. It’s not over yet. I can’t sleep.”

“Alex, what isn’t over?”

“I _don’t know!”_ Alex sobs.

Michael tightens his grip around him, “Alright. It’s alright, Alex, it’s gonna be alright. Just take a deep breath, okay?”

“I don’t wanna leave,” Alex whimpers. “I wanna stay here. I wanna stay with you, Michael. I don’t wanna go back. Please don’t make me go back.”

“Go back where?”

“I …”

He doesn’t know. He can’t remember. He just knows that something isn’t right and he can’t go to sleep. If he goes to sleep, Michael will be gone when he wakes up. Alex doesn’t know why or how, but it’s true. He doesn’t want that. He wants to stay here with Michael.

“Please let me stay,” he begs.

He can’t tell who he’s asking, Michael or the universe.

“Alex, of course you can stay. You _live_ here,” Michael says. “Why would you have to leave?”

“I can’t remember. But I don’t wanna go back.”

Michael kisses the top of his head, “Darlin’, you were just having a bad dream. It’s okay now.”

Alex inhales deeply, “A bad dream. That’s all. A bad dream.” 

Somehow, he doesn’t quite believe that. He wants to, but he’s more than certain it isn’t true. It’s too good to be true. Far too good. He won’t argue with Michael about it, though. Not right now. How can he? Michael’s arms around him feel so _right_ and he can’t bring himself to pull away. And maybe Michael’s right. Maybe everything _is_ okay. Maybe Alex is worried over nothing. They lay down, Michael against the pillows and Alex resting his head on his chest. Michael runs his fingers through Alex’s hair, soothing away that feeling of dread. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I didn’t mean to freak out like that.”

“You’ve been through a lot, baby, it happens.”

“I miss you.”

He doesn’t know why. They’re right here, together, yet Alex misses Michael more than he can express.

“Miss you, too.”

“I haven’t had nightmares this bad in a while,” Alex confesses. 

Michael is quiet for a moment before admitting, “I didn’t know you were having them.”

“Mostly in the hospital,” Alex explains. “I …had to be sedated a few times because of them.”

“You were? God, Alex, I’m so—”

“Please, don’t apologize. I never wanted anyone to know.”

“Why not?” Michael asks.

Alex shrugs, “Dunno. It’s …embarrassing, I guess. And I know, everyone says it’s normal. Common for PTSD and all that. But I …I don’t know.”

“Probably redundant for me to say you have nothing to be ashamed of, huh?”

Alex manages a soft snicker at that, “Little bit.”

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Michael says. “But I’m glad you at least told me.”

“You know what? I am too. It …feels kinda …nice, not keeping it all in.”

Michael laughs, “You don’t say?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“Dr. Stacies reminds me to keep up with my ‘healthy outlets’ all the time.”

“You should,” Alex comments. He’s not sure if he knows who Dr. Stacies is. It doesn’t matter at the moment. What matters is the two of them, safe and warm in bed.

“Pot, kettle,” Michael remarks.

“I know,” Alex repeats. “It’s just …hard sometimes. I, I just keep getting my dad’s voice in my head. Telling me that a ‘real man’ keeps it to himself. A _real_ man never lets anyone see him cry.”

“Yeah, well, psychologists and gender studies professors say different.”

“Smarty pants.”

“I’m just repeating what the experts tell me, darlin’. I think they know what they’re doing better than your dad does.”

“There’s a mouthful,” Alex laughs. They’re both quiet for a bit before he says, “I still get them sometimes. Nightmares.”

“You do?”

Aex nods, “Yeah. A lot, actually. They’re, they’re not as bad as they were. Or, I don’t know, maybe they are and I’m just …better at dealing with them. I don’t wake up screaming anymore, at the very least.”

“You can tell me about them,” Michael says. “If you want to. As much or as little as you want, you can tell me.”

Alex hums softly but doesn’t say anything.

“Or,” Michael goes, “you can just say ‘I had a bad dream, Michael, kiss me and make it better’ if you’d rather.”

With a chuckle, Alex lifts his head so they’re face to face and says, “I had a bad dream, Michael, kiss me and make it better.”

Michael does exactly that.

***

“Alex? Alex!” Endy shouts. “Alex, please wake up!”

Alex opens his eyes with a gasp. He looks around frantically for Michael, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Alex isn’t in bed with him, safe and warm. He’s cold. Lying on a hard floor. Still in the bathroom, right where he’d collapsed after vomiting. His dress is still on him, still intact. It was a dream. Just a dream. Of course.

“Endy?” His voice trembles as much as his body.

Helping him sit up, Endy asks, “What happened? Did you fall? Did you hit your head, are you hurt?”

“No, no I …” Alex stammers, “I just, I think I got sick. I think I threw up. I don’t know what else ... ”

He wipes his hands over his face, then freezes. Looks down at his palms to see his makeup smeared all over them. For some reason, it brings on a fresh round of tears.

“Oh God. Oh, Endy, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I, I ruined all your hard work.”

“No, it’s fine,” Endy says. “Don’t worry about that, Alex, it’s just fine.”

“But you did all that,” he sobs. “You all worked so _hard_ and I messed it all up on you.”

Shaking her head Endy lifts him to his feet and—with a slight assist from her powers—helps him back into the sitting room, “It’s okay. We were going to have to redo it anyway, remember? A fresh coat for the banquet.”

“The banquet,” Alex whispers as Endy settles him on one of the sofas. “Right. The banquet. For my wedding. I got married today.”

“Yes, today was the wedding,” Endy replies with a nod. Someone Alex can’t see hands her a glass. She takes it gratefully, “Thank you, Hepat. Here, come on, Alex, drink this.”

Though it’s not _technically_ allowed, they know that no one will be particularly upset if Alex drinks a bit of water before Teave gives him permission. Especially if they think he needs it to calm tears of joy.

“Thank you,” Alex says once he’s finished drinking. He looks at Hepat and Lahey and the other servants, “Thank you. I’m sorry I …I’m sorry if I’m making this difficult.”

“You aren’t making anything difficult, your highness,” Lahey replies. She’s speaking through their connection to the Collective Consciousness, not in English like Endy does. “We understand this is hard for you.”

“Don’t worry,” Endy says. “We have some time left, so you just try to relax for a few minutes, okay? Then we’ll get you ready.”

“Thank you,” Alex says again.

He runs through all the calming and grounding techniques and breathing exercises he can remember. He can do this. He can. He has to. There’s no other choice. Failure is not an option. It never has been and it never will be.

So he calms himself down and cooperates as Endy and the others fix his makeup. He won’t be changing his gown tonight; tradition says that the new consort remains in the clothing their spouse chose for their ‘welcoming’ into the High Court. Even the stain of Teave’s blood will remain on his glove, to symbolize how he represents his husband. Husband. Teave is his husband now. He doesn’t want to think about it.

It doesn’t take them as long this time to finish preparing him. He stays focused while they apply new makeup, the only thing that will change tonight. The glitter remains on his body, but the coat on his face is wiped away and replaced with a much subtler one. Red lipstick and soft gold eyeshadow. The black gems around his eyes are removed. His nails are painted gold with thin black patterns swirling about; on his ring fingers, the colors are reversed.

“If nothing else,” Endy says as they finish up, “you’re the best damn looking consort Antar’s ever seen.”

“That’s my whole life’s goal,” Alex replies.

“I know there’s nothing I can say to make this any better, but …” Endy trails off, demonstrating just how true her statement is.

“You’ve already made it better, Endy,” Alex assures her. “This is just something else I have to get used to.

She sits next to him and squeezes his hand. The others remain standing around them; they don’t dare to sit on the Queen’s furniture. Alex can feel the quiet comfort they’re offering through the Collective, and though none of them can change the situation, he appreciates it all the same. If nothing else, he’s not _completely_ alone at least. And he’s finally done something good with his life; the closer Teave is to claiming the throne, the easier he is on his servants. For once, he gets to _relieve_ someone’s burden, rather than be the cause of it.

The time comes, too soon for his liking, and Teave arrives so they can make their way to the banquet. He’s changed from his formal uniform into a black jumpsuit, sheer around the chest with sparkling black patterns and a long black cape trailing behind him. Around his neck is a gold pendant bearing the crest of House Esmarch. He offers Alex his arm and they make their way to where the guests are waiting. Their arrival is announced as they step into the ballroom and cheers echo around the room. Alex grips Teave’s arm tighter than he intends to, but none of the elites can tell it’s from apprehension and not affection. 

As soon as the cheering dies down, the orchestra begins playing and Teave and Alex have their first dance. It’s no different than any of the other times they’ve danced. Except that this time all eyes are on them and everything has to be absolutely perfect. No room for error. No mistakes allowed. Alex can’t half-ass it or stumble or do anything to suggest he isn’t completely thrilled right now. He even has to _smile._ His heart pounds but he can hear Endy—hidden away in the back of the room with all the other servants—in his mind assuring him that he’s doing fine. It helps. She’d tell him immediately if he were making any sort of mistake. 

Just as Alex expected, it’s Kelico that Teave offers him to once their dance is finished. Her green, one shouldered gown is simple yet elegant, her hands gentle yet strong as she leads him confidently. The exact opposite is true of her husband, Isdey. He’s wearing a vibrant pink suit, decorated with black gems and a large bow on the front. His grip on Alex is tight and his movements shaky, like he’s nervous. Alex doesn’t blame him; according to Endy, Isdey was raised in a very traditional home. He knows the value of perfection and the only other dance he’s ever led was at Miripe and Meltru’s wedding years ago. But they get through it, and Kelico chooses Vanka for Alex’s next dance.

This is where things get complicated. Vanka—in a stunning strapless orange gown—handles him no differently than Kelico and leads the dance just fine. But Vanka is not married. Her fiance, Wos, is in attendance, wearing a simple gold dress, and they were granted the Queen’s blessing to marry months ago. Under normal circumstances, Alex’s status as a newlywed would take priority over Wos’s as affianced, and he would be expected to lead the dance. Normal, however, does not exist in his situation. Alex is still an _inferior being_ and for him to lead would be an insult not just to Wos and Vanka, but to House Durameter as a whole. Maybe even to Antar itself. 

He can sense Wos’s hesitation as well. She was born a commoner in the poor section of the Middle Ring. Poor, at least, compared to members of the Court, and _nothing_ compared to the High Court. Her family was lucky enough to be relatively comfortable, enough that she was able to pursue her desire to become an artist. But she’s only been at Vanka’s side for a little under a year and though she fits in well, she’s not entirely accustomed to High Court expectations. She doesn’t know how to proceed either. She and Alex turn to Vanka and Teave at the same time, both looking for guidance on how not to offend the room.

Alex hears Teave in his mind, reminding him that his place is _always_ beneath. At the same time, he can hear Vanka’s voice, telling Wos that she should take the lead. That she can’t expect Alex to know how to anyway. He doesn’t think he was meant to hear it. He’s not even sure how he did; the neuro-bridge only allows him to hear thoughts directed at him, not others. Perhaps Wos accidentally connected their minds in her nervousness. Whatever the reason, it isn’t important right now. Wos takes the lead and Alex follows, both relieved when the atmosphere stays exactly as it was for everyone else. For an instant, he almost thinks he hears Wos make a playful comment to him about the situation. He dismisses it, knows he must’ve imagined it. People don’t make jokes to him; they don’t think he’s smart enough to get them.

Miripe is next, in a burgundy suit with a metallic top, and he’s hardly pleased to be the last chosen. It isn’t surprising. Though each member of the Council is competing for the throne, there are still subtle alliances between them, based either on personality or how they plan to rule. Teave and Kelico are both crafty enough to want the other on their side and have similar views on what direction Antar should take in its continued conquest of the galaxy. Miripe _had_ been close with Micon, Vanka’s late uncle, but his death left him without a certain ally; Vanka has largely kept back and focused on gaining the experience she needs to keep up with the three of them. Lately, though, she’s been smart enough to see that Queen Maga has been favoring Teave—thanks in no small part to Alex—and has been leaning more toward his side of things. 

Stubborn and set in his ways, Miripe has been unyielding and Alex can tell it’s hurting his chances for the crown far more than helping him. It’s just a matter of time before _he_ realizes that. For the moment, he doesn’t, and he’s rougher than necessary as he dances with Alex. Not so much that anyone would notice, but Alex certainly doesn’t appreciate it. Meltru, in a sparkling gold gown with white feathers along the skirt, isn’t any better.

Alex gets through it, though, as always. At last he has his dance with Queen Maga, who leads him as though they’ve danced together a thousand times before. It’s infuriating, how competent she is in so many things when she’s so unrepentantly evil. A conqueror responsible for the destruction and enslavement of three planets and one habitable moon. The one responsible for overthrowing Queen Mara and forcing the refugees to flee. The one responsible for Michael losing his mother. If only he’d let her fall when he had the chance … 

He swallows down his anger quickly, before it becomes noticeable. Changes his line of thought. The last thing anyone needs to know is that he regrets saving the Queen’s life. That he despises her and all the rest of them. He has to be a good consort. A perfect consort. Quiet. Delicate. Obedient. He can do this. He can _do_ this.

It’s a relief when he’s finally handed back to Teave for the last dance before dinner is _finally_ served. There’s a small ceremony around their first married meal, as well. Teave is meant to make a show of starting his own meal before feeding Alex his first bite; it’s a symbol of Alex’s obedience and Teave’s role as his caretaker or something like that. Alex is too hungry to care at this point. For once in his life, though, Teave is merciful and doesn’t draw it out too long. Mostly because Alex fainting from hunger would make Teave look bad. Alex is grateful nonetheless.

The remainder of the night, fortunately, is no different than a normal antaran celebration. Music and dancing and fireworks and frankly absurd amounts of food. Alex has been through enough of these to know exactly how to behave and what to do. He stands at Teave’s side and listens to another round of congratulations. People talking about how perfect he looks and back to touching him constantly. Telling him how lucky he is in slow, condescending tones to be sure his poor tiny brain understands them. A few people jokingly ask Teave when they can expect children, one going as far as to ask him if human males can carry. 

Being a culture that places no significance on gender, Antar has its own customs for members of the High Court in a same sex marriage who need an heir. When the time is right—that is, when Teave decides he wants to start having kids—Teave will simply impregnate a surrogate of his choice. She’ll be given her own place in the castle—the same room that until now has been Alex’s—and treated as an extension of House Esmarch during the pregnancy. After the baby is born, she’ll be moved into a cottage among the servant’s quarters around the castle. The servants will be expected to tend to her needs, but she’ll have no real authority or even autonomy; her role will be to live quietly and stay healthy in case Teave wants more children. As far as the Court is concerned, Alex will be the ‘mother’ and the chosen surrogate no more than a means to an end. It’s an _honored_ position that he can’t imagine anyone actually wanting. Alex had spent almost two weeks in the face harness after he asked if the poor woman would also be expected to wear a red cloak and a white bonnet.

Teave responds to their questions diplomatically; politely while not giving any real answers. Alex tries not to imagine putting some poor, innocent woman through such a burden. Tries not to think about the nightmare of raising a child with Teave. Of raising a child that thinks of him as inferior. That will go on to be just like Teave. The very idea makes him want to scream.

Eventually the celebration concludes. One last set of speeches are made, starting with well wishes from the Council and ending with Teave thanking everyone for joining in this _wondrous_ celebration. After that the two of them must stand at the door and bid everyone a personal farewell. For the most part, people bow respectfully, offer one last congratulations, and take their leave. The members of the High Court, however, largely stop to chat with Teave for a short while longer and by the time they finally board their train, Alex is on the brink of passing out. 

“I know, I know,” Teave says, snaking his arm around Alex’s shoulders, “that was a lot for one night. But what did you expect, bunny? _Our_ wedding deserves nothing less.”

“Yeah, sure,” Alex sighs. He’s too tired to keep his head up, so he rests it on Teave’s shoulder. No point in holding on to useless dignity right now.

“I can’t wait for you to see the portraits,” Teave comments, rubbing Alex’s shoulder lightly. “They came out perfectly. I actually don’t know which one I like the best.”

“There’s a first,” Alex mutters.

Teave pinches his shoulder, “Hush, you.”

Alex doesn’t respond. He keeps quite the rest of the way to the castle, his exhaustion slowly giving way to dread as they go. By the time they pull into the station, his heart is racing again and he’s wide awake. He wants to hope that maybe Teave will be too tired to do anything tonight, but he knows that won’t be the case. That’s never been the case with Teave. Or Michael, for that matter. Antarans seem to have incredible stamina and right now it’s the bane of his existence. 

Teave wastes no time the moment they reach his— _their—_ bedroom. He pins Alex against the wall and crushes their lips together, his hands all over him as his mind tugs the heavy jewelry off of him and tosses it aside. Alex pushes down every instinct he has to fight back. Doesn’t struggle when Teave scoops him into his arms and carries him to the bed. Forces himself to almost kiss back as Teave leans over him, using his powers to remove Alex’s prosthetic. Reminds himself for the umpteenth time that this is just part of his life now.

“I’ve waited so long for this night, Alex,” Teave says.

“I know,” Alex replies. He doesn’t know what else he _could_ say.

Teave strokes his thumb over the side of Alex’s face and smirks, “Rath is a fool. He should’ve treasured you when he had the chance.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Alex turns his head away. He doesn’t want to hear this.

“Look at me, Alex,” Teave orders. When Alex doesn’t comply, Teave grabs his chin and forces him to. “I said, _look_ at me.”

Alex opens his eyes, forces himself to look at Teave.

“Rath is the past, Alex. You understand that, don’t you?” Teave questions. “You are never going to see him again. He doesn’t _want_ to see you again. He doesn’t want _you.”_

Tears escaping from the corners of his eyes, Alex says nothing.

Teave wipes the tears away, “There’s nothing to cry about, little bunny. You and Rath were never meant to be. He never cared about you. He never loved you. If he had, if he had ever really _looked_ at you, he would have never let me take you home with me; he’d have kept you for himself.”

Still Alex says nothing. There’s nothing he can say. Nothing he _wants_ to say, other than perhaps begging Teave to stop saying these things. Alex hardly needs to be told any of it. He stays quiet, though; he won’t give him that satisfaction.

“It’s going to be alright now, though,” Teave goes on. He kisses down Alex’s neck, sliding his hands beneath the dress. “You and I are together. And I meant what I said, Alex. I’ll always protect you. I’m going to take care of you for the rest of our lives.”

He tears the dress in half, delights in the sight before him. Against his will, Alex whimpers, and he hates himself for it.

“Don’t be afraid. I love you,” Teave says, pausing to look him in the eye again. He cups Alex’s face in his hand and says, “I love you more than anyone has ever loved anything. I’ll show you just how much.”

“Teave,” Alex whispers, voice cracking.

“Yes, my love?”

His body, his voice, his _soul_ is trembling as he breathes, “Please don’t hurt me.”

A fresh wave of tears spills over. Alex hates himself even more. How dare he ask— _beg—_ for mercy like this? When he himself had never once shown an ounce of it to Michael. When he’d taken advantage of him again and again, violated him when he had no free will of his own. He’s getting what he deserves now—exactly what he’d done to Michael—and he has no right to try and lessen his punishment.

Teave kisses him again, tenderly, and says, “My precious, precious little bunny. I would _never_ hurt you.”

It does hurt. 

Not physically. Physically, Teave is soft and gentle, something rare for him. Physically, Teave delivers on his promise to take care of Alex and then some. Physically, Teave makes it everything a wedding night _should_ be. _Physically,_ Teave ensures that Alex enjoys it almost as much as he does.

And that hurts Alex more than anything.

He wants to fight or run or scream or even just die right then and there. Instead, he picks a spot on the ceiling and stares at it as his body betrays him. As he’s forced to feel and hear himself surrendering to Teave’s touch, regardless of how it makes him want to peel his skin off. Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembers something he’d read about physical reactions and not holding victims accountable for what their bodies do against their will. He can’t tell whether it applies to him or not, when he’s more villain than victim. He may have been Teave’s pawn, but that doesn’t redeem Alex for how he made Michael suffer. Nothing ever will, not even a lifetime of this night.

Long after it’s over and Teave is sleeping soundly, Alex continues to stare at the ceiling. He covers his face with his hands in a silent scream, his tears falling freely. He wants his flesh flayed. Boiled. Burned. Anything to be rid of Teave’s touch. He has no strength left to do anything but lay there in his soundless sobs.

When Alex does finally move, it’s just to turn onto his side—facing away from his husband—and curl into himself. He keeps on crying and wonders if the strain of it might suffocate him. Too easy, he knows. Fate would never be merciful enough to give him that. But what it does give him is in its own way so much better. The gentle ghost of a touch on his face.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” Michael asks. Or rather, the phantom Michael. The last shred of foolish fantasy Alex won’t let go of. _Can’t_ let go of.

“I …” Alex can only think of one thing to say, “I had a bad dream, Michael, kiss me and make it better.”

Michael does exactly that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a token of my apologies, have some fashion.
> 
> Alex's piercings, gown and accessories:  
> 
> 
> Queen's gown and Bremi's suit:  
>   
> 
> 
> Teave's banquet suit:  
> 
> 
> Kelikco & Isdey's Dress & Suit:  
> 
> 
> Vanka & Wos's dresses:  
> 
> 
> Miripe & Meltru's suit & dress:  
> 
> 
> That's all for this week, hope everyone is staying safe and healthy!


	28. gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex and Michael try to figure out how to proceed after the night of the power outage at the cabin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter follows after chapter thirteen "blackout".
> 
> I know updates have been slow and I'm sorry to say they may be even slower. I've just started a new job a few weeks ago and after months of quarantine, it's completely exhausting to be back on my feet eight hours a day (plus commute) and I don't have as much time to write. But I assure you, I am still writing and I have every intention to see this fic through! I didn't come this far just to quit now lol so please bear with me.

It’s dark. A strange sort of darkness he’s never seen before. It’s empty. Endless. It should be oppressive or ominous, but it’s just quiet. Peaceful, almost. He’s drifting, floating through it, like some sort of void. No real direction, he’s just weightlessly flowing along. He should be scared, but he isn’t. There’s a sense of familiarity to it. A rightness. A feeling of belonging. He needs to be here. He’s _wanted_ here. He just has to figure out where _here_ is.

“Hello?”

Michael’s voice echoes around him. He waits, but there’s no answer. He’s not sure who he’s calling out to anyway. There’s no one here but him, after all. At least, not that he can see. Or hear. Or even vaguely sense. Michael is entirely alone.

But that’s not true, he realizes. He’s _not_ alone here. There _is_ someone whose presence he can sense. Almost. It’s just a feeling, not even a fully formed one. He can’t even call it “vague” it’s so faint. But it’s there. It’s there and he needs to follow it. Needs to find out who’s here with him. First he needs to remember how he got here. The last thing he can remember is … 

Alex. The last that Michael remembers, he was asleep on the couch with Alex in his arms. Now he’s alone, with no idea of where Alex could be. If he’s safe. He thinks he is. Somehow, he’s sure that whatever’s going on, Alex isn’t in danger right now. But Michael still needs to find him. Get them out of here, bring them home. This place, wherever it is, it’s dark. Alex is afraid of the dark. Michael needs to find him fast.

His feet find the ground. Or maybe the ground finds his feet. It doesn’t matter. What matters is getting to Alex. Alex needs him and that’s all Michael cares about.

“Alex!”

There’s no answer. He tries again. And again. Runs uselessly through the emptiness. Wonders whether he should be calling out or not. Alex could still be sleeping for all he knows. If he’s asleep, he doesn’t know how dark it is. If he’s asleep, he doesn’t have to be afraid. He’s already endured so much, the last thing Michael wants is for him to go through anything else. Still, he _needs_ to find him before someone else does. And somehow, he doesn’t think _this_ darkness will frighten him.

So he calls out one last time, “Alex! Alex, can you hear me? Alex, _please,_ answer me!”

“Who’s there?”

Michael nearly falls to the ground and cries. Practically sobs and wails with relief. Alex hasn’t spoken a word in months. Not since the day Michael first brought him home. Two words, he’d spoken that day. Just two. One on Antar and the second on Earth. Since then, silence. Almost. Tears and whimpers and whines and even the occasional hum. But no words. Never words. None of that sharp wit, those quick comebacks. The solid speeches and declarations of plans. The firm reassurances, the gentle comforts. The hushed, whispered confessions of vulnerability. Not one of them. Not even a hint. Not a hint of _Alex._

But now, now his voice is clear as day. It surrounds Michael, not quite an echo but still coming from every direction. It’s simply _everywhere._ Michael doesn’t understand how. He doesn’t need to. Doesn’t care. It’s _Alex._ Alex is speaking to him. It’s almost as wondrous as the moment he finally found him on Antar. He thinks there might be tears on his face. He can barely breathe. He swallows the lump in his throat, takes a handful of deep, shaky breaths. This isn’t the time to lose himself in excitement. Just because he can _hear_ Alex, doesn’t mean he’s _found_ him.

“Alex!” He calls again. “Alex, it’s me! It’s Michael! Can you hear me?”

Silence. Michael almost screams. It wasn’t his imagination. It wasn’t. It was Alex. _His_ Alex. He’s here. Michael just needs to keep trying. He can’t give up on him. Not now. Not again. Never again.

“Alex! Can you hear me? It’s me, Michael! I’m here. Please, if you can hear me, Alex, please say something. Anything. Please, Alex.”

“Mi …chael?”

Michael’s face feels like it’s going to split in half from the stupid grin on it, “Yes! Yes, baby, it’s me! It’s Michael!”

“Michael …”

“Where are you? Alex, where are you?” Michael asks.

“Where?”

“Yes, where. Where are you?”

“Here …”

_“Where?”_ Michael asks again. “Please, baby, I need you to tell me where you are. I can’t get to you if I don’t know where you are.”

“Here,” Alex repeats. He sounds confused. Like he doesn’t even understand the question.

“Where is here?” Michael asks. He switches tactics, “Do you, do you see anything?”

If Alex can describe something, anything, about his location, maybe Michael can somehow figure out how to get to him.

“See? No.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing …”

Alex still sounds confused. Spaced out, even. Like he’s lost. But he’s not afraid, and Michael will take that as a win.

“Can you see _me?”_

“…no.”

“Do you know where I am?”

“Here.”

“Here,” Michael says. He shakes his head, “Here. I don’t …I don’t understand. Alex, where is here? Where _are_ we?”

_“Here,”_ Alex is beginning to sound frustrated. Almost like he might cry.

“Okay. Okay. Here. We’re here. I’ll figure this out. I’ll …”

Michael trails off. He doesn’t know how he can possibly figure this out and the last thing he wants is to make Alex an empty promise. He has to try, though. Find Alex and get them home. Or at least to a place where the others will find them. To do either, though, he needs to find Alex first. He tries again to remember how they wound up here. All he can remember is waking up to a power outage and taking care of Alex. Falling asleep on the couch together. That’s it. No matter how hard he tries, Michael can’t remember anything after falling asleep. Were they attacked? Did someone break in and abduct them? He doesn’t think so, but he can’t figure out what else could’ve happened. They’re supposed to be on the couch. The couch … 

Around him, an image begins to form. A room. It’s not Alex’s living room, but there _is_ a couch in it. It’s fancy. Michael recognizes it; he found Alex in this room. They shouldn’t be here. It’s on Antar and they should not be on Antar. He doesn’t understand how they even could be. Another image shows itself; two forms materialize slowly on the couch. 

“A-alex?”

He gets no answer, but it’s definitely Alex he sees on the couch. He’s clutching a blanket to his chest—the closest thing he has to clothing—and sitting sideways in Teave’s lap, his head against his shoulder and his legs stretched across the rest of the couch. Teave has one arm wrapped around Alex’s waist, his fingers running along the side of his neck. His other hand is caressing Alex’s thigh, that usual smug expression on his face. Nearby there are numerous windows with rain gently streaming down them and a fireplace fills the room with warmth and light. There’s an ornate coffee table in front of them with a glowing blue sphere on it, similar to the one Michael had discovered his mother’s message on. It’s projecting an image all around the room, one Michael has dreamt of many times; a black sand beach and a purple ocean. 

Alex looks uncomfortable, yet resigned as he accepts Teave’s touch and listens to his promise of taking him there soon. Like he’s trying to convince himself to be happy about it. Michael can practically hear his pros and cons list forming. It’ll be nice to get out of the city, he doesn’t get to often; threats have increased since the wedding and members of the High Court aren’t permitted to travel without a full escort. Endy—whoever that is—has always wanted to go there and now she’ll finally have the chance. But it also means a whole new arena for Teave to parade him around like a show pony. It means another set of demeaning and uncomfortable outfits. It means—

Violently, without warning, Alex’s voice floods Michael’s mind.

_Ungrateful._

_Selfish._

_Had it so good._

_Rotten._

_Took it for granted._

_Never appreciated._

_Safe._

Michael slaps his hands over his ears. It’s not the sound of Alex’s voice that’s too much, but the pain in it. The raw, almost vicious self-loathing. He stumbles backwards, trying to get away from the pain, when the scene dissolves and the darkness returns.

Now Michael understands. He begins to drift again, floating along through the emptiness. He’s never done this before. Not by himself. For all the teachings from Isobel—and later, Max—Michael has never succeeded in entering another person’s mind, not without one of them bringing him along. Until now. He’s in Alex’s head. Somehow, without meaning to, Michael has slipped into his mind while they were sleeping. To that blank space between dreams. That's why Alex is so confused; he doesn't know that anything is even happening. As far as he’s concerned, they’re still on the couch and the darkness is nothing more than his eyes being closed. He’s not really wrong, either. But Michael isn’t sure how to get back out and wake them up. In a few hours someone will come looking for them, and hopefully Isobel or Max will be able to get them out. For now though, he’s going to do what he’s waited four years for and finally talk to Alex. 

Michael wraps his arms around himself and finally finds Alex. Exactly where he should be. Michael can't see him, but he can feel him resting on his chest as he was before. Relief coursing through him, he runs his fingers through Alex’s hair and earns a soft sigh in return. 

“I’m sorry if I scared you, darlin’,” he says. “I thought you were lost.”

“Lost?”

Michael chuckles, “Yeah. I know, dumb of me. You've been right here this whole time.”

“Here,” Alex repeats, “right here.”

“Right here. And you know what? This is the most at home I’ve felt in years.”

Images form again. It's different this time, though, like Michael is seeing things through Alex’s eyes instead of looking in from the outside. He’s in a kitchen. Peeling something, some kind of fruit. It looks like an apple but the peel is a soft shade of pink. His clothes are old and worn out. There are chains around his wrists. It doesn't fit at all with the elegant finery he'd been wearing when Michael found him. There are other people around, all quiet and concentrating suspiciously hard on their work. The way people only do when their boss has walked in. 

There are heavy footsteps behind Alex. He doesn't look up from his task. A hand reaches out over him, to an overhead cupboard where more of the odd pink apples are. The hand plucks one out carelessly and causes the rest to tumble out. Alex swears and jumps to his feet to avoid being pummeled by the avalanche and the person responsible laughs. He can’t actually go anywhere, though; there’s another chain around his ankle, giving him only a few feet to move in and he can’t really avoid getting hit by a few stray apples.

“Aw, poor little human,” the person—Orif, Alex’s memory supplies for him—mocks, “did that hurt?”

Alex forces himself to stay silent, but keeps his gaze locked with Orif’s. There’s a high chance Orif will retaliate to any remark physically, and Alex isn’t in a position to fight back. It’s too much of a risk. If he’s going to say anything, it has to be something that sounds harmless. Something the others in the room will defend when Orif gets angry. Few people have the confidence to stand up to him, but if they feel he’s endangering their most valuable prisoner—and, frankly, new friend to most of them—it would be expected of them to ensure he doesn’t do anything to dampen negotiations.

Orif bites into the apple and says, “Must be rough for a delicate _consort_ like you, huh?”

As he speaks, a chunk of chewed apple pops out of his mouth and lands on the side of Alex’s face. Alex wipes it away, but bites back the many comments he could make. 

Orif goes on, “What’s wrong? Wanna go home to your lord? Bet you’ve never worked this hard in your _life._ ”

Alex smiles and says, “Actually, this is the most at home I’ve felt in years.”

“Oh really?” Orif challenges.

“Absolutely,” Alex replies. “I have work to do, I have people to talk to, I have someone who likes making my life harder for no reason.”

Orif spits a seed from the apple-like fruit onto the floor and storms off. He can’t respond to that last statement without making himself look bad. Can’t _admit_ that he is, in fact, purposely making things harder for Alex. And he certainly can’t try to justify it; Alex has been nothing but cooperative since his kidnapping, and no one in the Alighting has any cause to harm him at the moment. A few people try to hide their amusement as Orif leaves, and the room’s mood brightens considerably.

Michael has no idea who this Orif guy is or what his problem is, but he feels himself practically glowing with pride at how even at such a disadvantage Alex still got the better of him. Alex, on the other hand, seems to regret his words. Michael forces himself out of the memory as Alex begins to chastise himself again, tells himself that if he hadn’t _provoked_ him then maybe _it_ wouldn’t have happened. Michael has a feeling that the “it” Alex is referring to has nothing to do with the apples. 

“What d’you mean?” He asks. “What wouldn’t have happened?”

He gets only a frightened whimper in response.

“Okay. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But …think you can tell me who that guy was?”

“…Orif,” Alex whispers.

“Did he hurt you?”

“…yes.”

“I’m sorry, Alex.”

“Sorry?”

“Sorry I didn’t get to you sooner. I would’ve protected you from him.”

“No,” Alex gasps. “Dangerous.”

“I’m not afraid of him,” Michael says.

“Afraid,” Alex repeats. The fear in his voice has Michael wanting this Orif dead even more. “Afraid.”

“It’s okay,” Michael says. “He’s not here. He can’t hurt you now.”

“Hurt me. Orif hurt me.”

“Who is he? A friend of Teave’s?”

“No,” Alex says quickly. Michael still can’t see him, but he can feel his fingers clutch tighter at him. “Hates Teave. Hates me. _Hates_ me.”

They drift into another memory. Alex still has those chains around his wrists. He’s walking with someone through the streets of some underground city. A man. A handsome man with dark skin and brown eyes that Alex could get completely lost in if he let himself. Michael reminds himself he has no right to be jealous, and if he’s being honest, he doesn’t want to stop looking at this man either.

“Why does he hate me so much?” Alex is asking. “I never even did anything to him.”

The man—Veress, Alex knows his name is Veress—sighs, “You embarrass him.”

“What?”

“Orif isn’t exactly a …humble man,” Veress replies. “You uh, might’ve noticed that. He was, I think, around twenty when the last war ended and he’d made a name for himself on the battlefield.”

Alex thinks he knows where this is going, but he still asks, “So?”

“So, he was insulted when we were assigned to target you that first time; said the mission was beneath him. Made a big fuss about how easy it was going to be and …well, I won’t go into detail but he made a lot of _crude_ remarks about you and how he expected you to act.”

“Ew,” Alex mutters.

“Came back to bite him, though,” Veress says. He snickers, “He was a _laughing stock_ after everyone found out how you’d bested him.”

Alex laughs too, “I’m surprised you told the truth about that; you could’ve just told them about the family that helped me.”

“Oh, believe me, Orif wanted to. He insisted I not mention _any_ of what you did, especially the part where you broke his nose.”

Alex grins, “I did do that, didn’t I?”

“He was _not_ happy,” Veress chuckles.

“And what about you? You weren’t embarrassed?”

“Honestly, Alex? I was impressed. I have all the same powers and training and _I_ wouldn’t want to fight Orif. The only reason he listens to me is out of respect for my parents’ memory.”

“Hard to imagine him respecting _anyone,_ ” Alex says.

“He’s a difficult man,” Veress admits.

Michael struggles to keep watching the memory as Alex and Veress walk passed a tunnel guarded by a metal gate and two large women. The gate itself is almost as intimidating as the guards, covered in spikes and looking as though just touching it will hurt. Behind it, the tunnel doesn’t look as well lit as all the others around them, giving the entire spot a horror movie feeling. They aren’t walking toward it. It’s just something nearby. Easy to ignore. But Alex—present day Alex, not the one in the memory—is panicking at the sight of it.

_“No!”_

“Wha—”

“No, no _please,”_ Alex begs, “please not there. No more, _please.”_

“Alex—”

“No! No, no, not again! _No!”_

As Alex continues to panic and beg, Michael squeezes him tighter, “It’s okay! It’s okay, Alex. We’re not going down there. I promise. We won’t go near there again, okay? You’re safe with me, baby, you’re safe. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

“Safe?” Alex whimpers.

“Yes, baby, you’re safe,” Michael promises. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. Whatever happened in there, it’s over now. I’m here and I’m gonna protect you.”

Teave’s voice echoes through the darkness, “It’s over now, all’s forgiven and you won’t have to go back …”

Michael startles, “What? What’s he talking about, Alex?”

He gets nothing but a few soft whines as another memory pulls them in. He can’t see anything this time. But he—or rather, Alex—is wrapped up in thick blankets, swaddled like a baby. Someone is carrying him, cradling him gently. His entire body is screaming in pain. He twitches and spasms erratically, as though he’s lost all control of his motor functions. He can’t speak. Only useless whines and whimpers and other garbled noises come out when he tries.

Michael tries to get away from this memory, but all he manages is to skip ahead to another part of it. Now Alex is flat on his back on a table. He’s cold but somehow the table is being warmed and that helps. He still can’t see, a blindfold covering his eyes. Someone is touching him. He cries out in terror every time the hand leaves him, but it always returns quickly. The person is healing him, Michael realizes, releasing their power into his body at different points. But even their power can’t soothe away this much pain. Another set of hands joins in, rubbing some kind of ointment into Alex’s skin. Massaging his legs and moving upward to the rest of his body.

They have to get out of here. They have to wake up. Isobel always says that she has total control when she enters someone’s mind, and Max seems to be no different. But Michael isn’t in control here. Alex doesn’t seem to be either. The memories are too strong for either of them. Michael has to get them out. He’s only going to make things worse the longer he stays here. He’s starting to panic. He can’t panic. He has to stay calm. He has to be strong. For Alex. Alex needs him and he needs him _now._ He feels like his own mind will split in half from the effort, but Michael manages to pull them from the memory.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “You don’t have to think about any of this, Alex. I didn’t mean to make you remember it.”

“…tired,” Alex mumbles weakly.

Michael rubs his back, “Okay. You sleep then, darlin’. You get all the rest you need and later, we’ll go someplace nice.”

“Nice?”

“Yeah, nice. Don’t worry, we’ll talk about it when you’re feeling better. Right now you go ahead and sleep.”

“Sleep,” Alex sighs, relieved.

Michael feels him cuddling closer, as if that’s actually possible at this point. When they finally get back to reality, he’s going to need Isobel and Max to resume his telepathy lessons. He can’t let this happen again. Sure, he’s finally found Alex’s consciousness and learned _something_ about what happened to him while he was gone. But the whole thing has upset Alex and Michael can only hope it won’t make him close up even more. Still rubbing Alex’s back, Michael’s starting to feel pretty tired himself. He supposes there’s nothing more he can do until someone wakes them up and lets his eyes drift shut.

***

Michael opens his eyes with a gasp and nearly bolts upright. It’s only the pressure of Alex’s weight on top of him—and the fear of waking him—that keeps him down. Awake. He’s awake now. Back in his own mind. They’re on the couch. Sunlight is streaming in through the window and everything appears to be in order around them. Panting, Michael rubs his hand over his face. He never wants to do that again. Not without guidance, at least. He can’t. He might’ve just made things a whole lot worse if he’s hurt Alex by wandering through his memories like that.

He doesn’t seem to have, though. Alex is still sound asleep, completely dead to the world. He’s snoring lightly, a bit of drool collecting on Michael’s shirt. It might be the deepest Michael’s ever seen him sleep. He can’t tell if that’s good or bad. If it means he feels secure or if the unintended intrusion has somehow damaged his mind. Michael wants to hope it’s the former. For an instant, he considers waking him to find out. He can’t bring himself to do it; Alex looks peaceful, twitching and moving just slightly the way humans tend to do when they dream. Somehow, Michael thinks he’s okay. Content. He can’t explain it, but he can feel a sort of tranquility radiating from Alex right now. And he’s in no rush to take that away from him.

So instead, he just watches as Alex sleeps. Wonders if he’ll remember any of what happened while Michael was in his mind. Or if he’ll remember last night, for that matter. Michael tries to recall everything he’d said, everything he’d done, from the moment he awoke to realize the power was out. The first part is easy. All he’d done was hold Alex and assure him he was safe, promise to buy emergency lights; he makes a mental note to go through the outlets later today and decide on the best way to arrange said lights so that Alex will feel safe. He has to check the generator, too, and find out what went wrong last night. Maybe see if he can rig up a backup generator to keep this from ever happening again. 

Then he remembers what came next. The part where he’d definitely crossed a line. More than one, he’d bet. Getting into the tub with Alex, holding him while they were both nude. Talking about their relationship. About Teave’s lies. Bawling to him about how _he’s_ feeling and begging Alex to somehow magically be himself again; it’s ironic, he thinks, that he said nothing in all the years he _should_ have talked to Alex about his feelings, and now that he finally did it, Alex is too lost and confused to understand. 

The others are going to be furious with him for this, and rightfully so. Alex has no ability to refuse or consent. He thinks he has to do whatever Michael tells him. Now he might start thinking that Michael has certain _expectations_ of him. He spent years subjected to Teave’s abuse. To being raped. And now, it seems, he’s internalized it all so deeply that he no longer sees any of it for what it is. In fact, if the pieces of thought Michael heard while inside his mind are anything to go by, he seems to actually _want_ it now. Or, _think_ he wants it, anyway.

Michael couldn’t clearly hear the last thing Teave said to Alex before they escaped that day. He was too busy worrying about getting Alex out of there and back to Earth. Whatever it was, Alex has since latched onto Michael as some kind of replacement for Teave. He obeys everyone, but it’s Michael he always looks to first. Michael who he clearly thinks of as the one in charge of him. Who he’s determined to _please._ And now, if he thinks Michael wants all the same things Teave wanted, he might try to _please_ him in those same ways. Michael would never allow it, of course. He would never take advantage of Alex that way. But he can already see the confusion, the heartbreak on Alex’s face. The assumption that Michael is rejecting him, rather than protecting him. He hates to even think about it, and he knows it’s his own fault for stepping so far out of line.

And yet. Alex is so calm now. The corner of his lips tug occasionally in an almost smile and he keeps making soft sounds, and Michael’s never understood the phrase “sleeping like a baby” so well before. Maybe for once, they’ll get lucky. Maybe Alex won’t misunderstand Michael’s intentions after all. Maybe—

The door bursts open and Michael immediately creates a shield of power in front of it to keep the intruder from getting any further inside. Alex jerks upward, looking around in confusion as he tries to figure out what woke him. Not entirely surprised to see Kyle in the doorway—looking none too pleased at having run into Michael’s invisible forcefield—Michael reaches out and wraps his hand around the back of Alex’s head. His mind is obviously elsewhere, still in that odd place between sleeping and waking. He’s not even coherent enough to realize what’s going on. He still looks exhausted, a dazed expression on his face and saliva dribbling down his chin. If he acts quickly and quietly enough, Michael might be able to coax him back to sleep.

“Shh, it’s okay darlin’,” he whispers, gently guiding Alex back down on top of him. “You go back to sleep, everything’s fine.”

For once, luck _is_ on his side, and Alex easily settles against Michael’s chest again. He hums appreciatively as Michael strokes his hair and begins to drift off again. Only then does Michael let down the wall keeping Kyle at bay.

The good doctor doesn’t even hesitate, “What the _fuck,_ Guerin?”

“Shh!” Michael scolds, gesturing toward Alex.

Though Kyle’s anger doesn’t dissipate in the slightest, he takes a deep breath and whispers, “What the hell are you _doing?”_

“I can explain,” Michael insists. It’s partly true.

“You had—” Kyle stops himself, realizes he’s nearly yelling again and lowers his voice, “you had _better.”_

“It’s not what it looks like,” Michael says. He glances down at Alex; they definitely can’t have this discussion without waking him. “Just …give me a second here, okay?”

Kyle crosses his arms over his chest, “Hurry up.”

Michael sits up slowly, shifting carefully so as not to disturb Alex too much. Even so, Alex whines and sluggishly tries to keep a grip on Michael’s shirt. Using his powers to keep Alex’s weight even, Michael slips out from under him and sets him down on the pillow. He wraps the blanket around tight Alex—the way Alex has always liked it—and rubs his back as he cuddles into the pillow in place of Michael. 

“Alex?” Michael doesn’t want to wake him, but he also doesn’t want to risk him waking up alone on the couch and getting scared. “I gotta step outside to talk to Kyle for just a second, but I’m gonna be right back, okay?”

Alex nods, groggy and clearly only partly understanding, and falls back to sleep. Once he’s sure that Alex will be okay, Michael takes a deep breath and prepares to try and explain himself. Of all the people who could’ve walked in on them, it had to be Kyle. Even when Michael and Alex had gotten back together after sending “Trevor” away, after agreeing to take it slow and working on their issues, Kyle had been more than a little wary. Had made it perfectly clear that he wasn’t about to let Michael off the hook for, well, anything. Michael hadn’t been any better, holding onto his own grudge against Kyle and making no secret of it. They’re better now. They’ve come to understand each other, become friends. More or less. But this is not going to be an easy thing to make Kyle understand. Michael supposes he should just consider himself lucky it wasn’t Flint who walked in, or he probably wouldn’t end this encounter without injury. Big brothers are like that.

Michael follows Kyle at the door and watches him type something on his phone, “What’re you doing?”

“Sending a message to the group chat letting everyone know you’re okay. You were _supposed_ to be at Liz’s hours ago.”

“Fuck,” Michael mutters. He’d plugged his phone in before bed, but it must not have charged enough before the power went out to survive the night. He was meant to meet Liz at seven. “What time is it?”

_“Ten,”_ Kyle scolds.

“Okay. I know this looks bad,” Michael says.

“Yes, Michael,” Kyle replies, “it looks _very_ bad. You don’t show up at Liz’s when you’re supposed to, you don’t answer the phone, and when I come to make sure you and Alex are okay, I find you practically molesting him?”

“That’s not—”

“I know how you feel about each other but come on! There are _boundaries,_ man! What the hell are you _thinking?”_

“It’s not what it looks like!” Michael exclaims. “Nothing happened!”

“Why is he sleeping on the couch with you?”

“This was the first time,” Michael swears. “The power went out last night and he was scared.”

Kyle’s face softens just a bit. They all know how afraid of the dark Alex is, but Kyle is the only other person to have actually _seen_ it. Hell, Kyle was the one who _realized_ it. After bringing Alex home from the hospital, Michael had quickly realized he couldn’t take care of him by himself. Not yet. The original plan had been for Flint to stay in the cabin with Alex and Michael would continue living in his Airstream beside it so that the two of them could look after him. Alex’s fear of his brother—and devotion to Michael—threw a wrench in that plan, leaving Michael on his own. So he’d called Kyle for backup, and the two of them spent an awkward day trying to help Alex settle in. When Alex started practically falling asleep on himself, Michael had simply taken him to bed and shut out the lights. Neither of them expected the panic that followed; the gasp of horror and the series of frightened sobs and whimpers, the way Alex immediately clutched at his blanket like a child. Michael had been at a loss; Alex had seemed fine that night in the cave and while he was in the hospital. But he’d been sedated in the cave and there was enough light in the hospital to make him feel sake. Kyle, on the other hand, quickly deduced the problem and told Michael to leave the light on. Once he did, Alex seemed to have no trouble settling into bed.

Still, Kyle remains stern, “There are flashlights and lanterns _and_ here, you should’ve just put one on for him. And if he really needed to stay close you didn’t have to do it _that_ way.”

Michael shakes his head, “It went out while I was sleeping. By the time I woke up it was too late.”

“Michael—”

“You didn’t see him, Kyle. He was _so scared._ He wouldn’t let go of me. I mean, he was so scared he—”

Michael cuts himself off there. He can’t tell Kyle about Alex’s accident. He doesn’t have permission and he won’t violate his privacy that way. This new Alex probably wouldn’t see it as a private matter, but Michael certainly does. And Kyle doesn’t need to know about it.

“He what?” Kyle asks.

“He was scared,” Michael repeats. “It was bad.”

Kyle appears to put the clues together himself and sighs, “That bad?”

“I couldn’t leave him. He was just so fucking _scared._ I have _never_ seen him cry like that, Kyle, not even before Teave. And I just …I had to stay with him. He needed me. He needed me to hold him and talk to him.”

“He _spoke?”_

The hope in Kyle’s voice is painful to hear, and even more painful for Michael to kill, “No, he just cried. I talked. Maybe too much …”

Kyle groans, “Do I wanna know what that means?”

“I uh,” Michael sighs and rubs the back of his neck, “I got into things I’m not sure I should’ve. Stuff he was freaking out over when Teave convinced him I was mind warped. About, like, other guys I’ve been with—”

_“Why_ would you think he wants to hear about that?” Kyle questions.

“That night, after Teave told us that, Alex assumed that I …I don’t know, that I’m not really bi or something. He thought I’d never been with a guy except him and that it was only because of Teave. I just figured, maybe telling him about other guys would help him believe Teave had nothing to do with us,” Michael explains. He shrugs, “I also …told him that I already liked him before Teave even got here.”

“I’m not sure he’s gonna understand that stuff right now,” Kyle says softly.

“I don’t think so either but I do think it made him feel better just hearing me talk. I don’t know, maybe it’s like white noise or something.”

“Well everything you say is white noise, Guerin,” Kyle teases.

“Ha ha, very funny, Valenti. Point is, he was comfortable. I know I should’ve thought it through more but all I could think about at the moment was making Alex feel better.”

Kyle sighs, “Yeah, I get it. If he was really that upset I can’t blame you. I know you’d never do anything to take advantage of this. I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions.”

Michael shifts awkwardly, knowing that he _could_ keep the matter of getting into the tub with Alex a secret, but also that he probably _shouldn’t._ “There is uh,” he admits, “one more thing.”

Kyle gives him a stern look, “What?”

“I kinda …had to …give him a bath …”

“And?” Kyle questions expectantly.

“I may have …taken it …with him …”

“For God’s sake, _Guerin,”_ Kyle groans.

“I know!” Michael exclaims. “I _know!_ But he was crying and shaking and the second I got in with him he was so much calmer! He was _relieved,_ you could hear it in the way he was _breathing.”_

Kyle groans again, running his hand over his face, “Oh my _God.”_

“I know,” Michael repeats. “I messed up. But Alex needed it. I can’t explain it, and I know I shouldn’t have done it, but he _needed_ me.”

There’s a long silence. Michael hates listening to himself right now. He sounds exactly like his old self. Everything he says feels like an excuse. Only he really means it, all of it. Everything he did last night, Alex needed. The consequences, though, could ruin everything. Alex doesn’t need that kind of confusion. 

Shaking his head, Kyle sighs, “Maybe you’re right.”

“I just—wait, what?”

“Maybe you’re right,” Kyle repeats. “I mean, he …we’ve been trying to treat him like we’ve always treated him, right?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re giving him his space and respecting his boundaries, but also making sure he knows we’re here for him. Trying to make him comfortable without overwhelming him.”

“Letting him open up on his own time,” Michael says.

Kyle nods, “Yeah, exactly. Except it’s not working. It’s only been a few months but he’s not getting better at all, Michael.”

Michael looks away from him. He knows Kyle’s right. He’s thought the same thing himself numerous times. He was thinking it last night, even. And he’s sure that everyone else is thinking it too. But none of them—at least, as far as Michael knows—has actually said it out loud. Admitted that they really haven’t made any progress in helping Alex at all. He supposes it’s fitting that Kyle is the one to finally do it; he’s never been one to dress up the facts, after all.

“He’s not,” Michael admits, looking back at Kyle.

“He’s confused,” Kyle goes on. “You can see it in the way he looks at us. He doesn’t know what’s going on. He doesn’t know _why_ we rescued him. He _still_ believes what Teave told him about you, I just know it. And why shouldn’t he? It took us _four damn years_ to finally get to him. Who knows what he went through in that time? What other bullshit Teave put into his head or what kind of …torture they might’ve put him through.”

“Enough to turn him mute,” Michael mutters.

“Exactly. And you know what he’s like; he jumps the worst possible conclusions when there’s a _hint_ of uncertainty. He probably spent all that time thinking about how we were better off without him and coming up with all sorts of ridiculous reasons we’d _want_ him gone. I mean, you _know_ he was expecting you and Maria to get back together.”

Michael flinches. He knows Kyle isn’t trying to hurt him by bringing that up again. It’s just the truth. He and Maria had even agreed to keep at arm’s length until Alex starts to really recover, just to make sure he doesn’t get any ideas. And he’s sure that Alex has come up with a way to blame himself for every bad thing that’s happened to any of them. Michael’s thought about it countless times over the years. Tried to put together the sort of mental gymnastics Alex must have gone through that fateful night to conclude that he, personally, ruined all of their lives. And whatever lies and torments Teave has fed him certainly didn’t help.

“I’m no better,” Kyle admits. “Everything I did to him when we were kids, I’m sure he figured out a way to justify it. And Mimi, I’d bet anything he blames himself for her condition; Teave wouldn’t have stuck around if he wasn’t obsessed with Alex, after all. Hell, I’m sure he thinks it’s his fault that Noah murdered Rosa and hurt Isobel.”

“How could _that_ be his fault?”

Kyle shrugs, “You were with _him_ that night instead of with Isobel. _And_ he still thinks the only _reason_ you were with him was Teave brainwashing you. You know how his mind works, Michael.”

A stretch like that would be exactly like Alex, especially in the state he was that night and all the other horrible conclusions he’d come to.

Michael sighs, “So, what’re we supposed to _do?_ I mean, we all agreed that just flat out telling him everything all at once would be a bad idea; he’ll probably think we’re lying or get scared or something, state he’s in.”

“No, we shouldn’t do that. Too much at once and he’ll just get confused. But I do think we need to start telling him things. A little bit at a time. Stuff that directly refutes what Teave told him. Like that you liked him before Teave came to Earth,” Kyle says. “We shouldn’t keep things from him, either. He should know about how the whole ‘lead around the pods’ thing isn’t working. I know we’re trying not to scare him, but he has a right to know. And I …I’ve been thinking for a while now that maybe we need to …indulge him, a little more.”

“How do you mean?” Michael asks.

“Look,” Kyle begins, “you know I’m not an expert on this stuff. I am _not_ a psychiatrist. A good day for me is full of lap choles and herniorrhaphies, not PTSD and selective mutism. But I’ve been reading up on trauma and recovery and talking to Dr. Hartford and thinking about the way Teave treated him when he was still pretending to be human and …”

“And?”

“Well, usually, the first stage in treating C-PTSD is helping the person feel safe. And if we’re being honest, I don’t think Alex has ever really felt safe. How could he? Growing up in that house, he never learned what safety and love looks like. He has no foundation for it. We need to fix that if we’re gonna help him. Go back to the beginning.”

Michael begins to see where Kyle’s logic is going and asks, “So you think we need to, what? Treat him like a kid?”

“Not exactly, but kind of,” Kyle says. “The way we treat kids is different, especially when they’re upset. Parents—good parents, anyway—do whatever they have to to reassure their kids when something’s wrong. Alex’s never really experienced that kind of doting attention before. Except from Teave.”

“You want us to treat him like _Teave_ did?”

“No, no,” Kyle shakes his head, “of course not. But do you remember how Teave was? He was all over him, all the time. I’m betting he was like that on Antar, too. He probably did _exactly_ what he did here; set up some awful thing for him to go through, then comfort him. Probably went on like that for …who knows how long, until Alex finally broke; he obviously has Stockholm Syndrome. By now, he’s probably convinced himself that Teave’s affection was the real deal.”

Michael says nothing. He hates how Alex came to believe Teave’s lies. The thought that he now believes the very first one—that Teave really loves him—is almost too much.

“Now that’s gone and he doesn’t understand why. He probably feels more alone than ever. We need to erase that. We need to show him what _real_ affection looks like. Real love. We can’t do that by treating him like everything’s the same as it always was.”

“We have to do it the way he’s used to _now,”_ Michael finishes for him.

“With respect to certain boundaries and everything, but …yeah. We have to adapt to this new Alex so he can feel safe.”

“So then …I didn’t _totally_ fuck up last night?” Michael asks.

“No, not _entirely,”_ Kyle replies. “But in the future, try to keep your clothes on.”

“Yeah,” Michael nods, “will definitely do that.”

_“Good,”_ Kyle isn’t exactly scolding him, but he certainly has a scolding tone. “Anyway, now that we know you guys aren’t dead, we should probably get on with the day.”

“Good idea,” Michael agrees. “I have to uh, check the generator first, though. Would you mind staying with Alex while I do it?”

“Sure. I can take him to Liz’s for you, if you want. She was freaking out when she called me.”

“Thanks. Why’d she send you, anyway? I mean, no offense, but if it was Teave don’t you think Max or Isobel would’ve been a better choice?”

“Both stuck in situations they couldn’t get out of at the moment,” Kyle explains. “And neither of them had your uh, weird flashes so we did kinda figure you were okay. Still worried, but, you know …”

Now that things are settled, Kyle looks exhausted. Michael can’t blame him. Kyle hasn’t had a proper day off in months. They’ve all been working extra hard since Max delivered the news about the portal. In addition to his usual shifts at the hospital, Kyle has been working with Michael, Max and Flint to construct lead boxes around the pods like Rosa suggested. He also frequently looks after Alex when Michael has to work and—since Alex named him his healthcare proxy years ago—he’s been working with his therapist to try and find a way to better communicate with him. Alex has only seen Dr. Hartford a handful of times and none of the sessions seem to have had much effect. In fact, seeing her only seems to upset him; she herself was the one to suggest limiting the visits until Alex feels ready. And to top it all off, Kyle has apparently been doing his own research and formulating new ideas. He’s dedicated, Michael has to give him that. It almost makes him feel guilty for ever hating the man.

“I’m sorry,” Michael says. “I won’t let it happen again.”

He heads to check out the generator while Kyle goes inside to check on Alex. It doesn’t take him long to figure out the problem. Just one small part that needs replacing; he should be able to get a new one easily enough. After that, he can focus on making sure it never happens again. When he gets back inside, Kyle is on the couch and Alex is nowhere to be found. Kyle tells him he’s getting ready to leave, so Michael goes to the bedroom and knocks gently on the door.

“Alex?” He cracks it open, knowing Alex can’t actually answer, and peeks in.

Alex is sitting on the bed and rubbing at his face like he’s upset. He’s disheveled, hair a mess and still looking like he needs more sleep. Of course, Alex always looks like he needs more sleep. Michael supposes this will be the moment when they find out just what effect his little stunt last night will have. As soon as Alex notices him, he straightens himself out and folds his hands in his lap, the same as always and Michael wonders if he even remembers what happened. Stepping into the room, he closes the door behind him and takes a deep, steadying breath.

“Morning, Alex,” he greets, moving to sit beside him. “How’re you feeling?”

Alex shifts and looks down at his lap, shame coloring his face. He looks like he wants to apologize for something. Michael isn’t sure what. For the bed, maybe. Or perhaps he thinks he disturbed Michael’s sleep last night. Or that somehow _he’s_ the one who crossed a line; to this day Michael can still hear him calling himself a rapist. Knowing Alex, he’s probably upset about all of it and more.

“Hey,” Michael takes his face in his hands and gently tilts his head back up, “it’s alright. You didn’t do anything wrong last night, Alex. You have no reason to feel bad, okay?”

Alex nods, but his expression doesn’t change. That shame doesn’t fade at all.

“C’mere,” Michael says, pulling Alex into his arms.

As Michael holds him tight, Alex tenses and Michael can feel the confliction in him. He’s comforted by the gesture, but he doesn’t think he _should_ be. He feels guilty about it, almost.

“I’m sorry I let the lights go out,” Michael says. “I should’ve planned for that. But I am not mad at you for anything that happened last night. None of it was your fault and you did not do anything wrong, okay?”

Again Alex nods, but Michael still gets the feeling he doesn’t quite believe him.

He tries a different angle, “Do you mind if I ask you something?”

Alex looks up at him, waiting for the question.

“On Antar, if something like that happened, would Teave have wanted you to just …be quiet and deal with it on your own?” Michael asks. At the hesitant look on Alex’s face, he adds, “It’s okay. You can tell me; you won’t get in trouble, I promise.”

Uncertainty still all over his face, Alex nods slowly.

Michael nods too, “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Well, you don’t have to do that anymore, okay? You never have to hide how you’re feeling from me, Alex, never. So from now on, if you’re scared or upset or mad or _whatever,_ you can tell me. And I, I know that’s hard; it’s always been hard for you to talk about your feelings and now you _can’t_ talk, but that doesn’t mean you have to keep it all bottled up. Even if all you can do is just scream or cry or something, just don’t hold it in anymore. I will never be upset with you for it. None of us will. I _want_ you to share it.”

That confusion doesn’t go anywhere, but Alex gives Michael another nod. It’s clear he’s trying to process what he’s been told. Trying to make sense of it and fit it into his reality. Michael doesn’t mean to make things about him, but he thinks maybe if he frames it that way—as something _he_ wants—Alex will feel better about doing it. 

“Good,” he sighs. “Then, uh, I guess we shouldn’t make Valenti wait any longer, huh?”

There’s more to say. A lot more. And questions he needs to ask. He needs to know exactly how much of last night Alex remembers. Needs to be sure none of it has been misinterpreted. And he needs to find out if Alex remembers what happened this morning. If he remembers and knows it was real or if he just thinks it was a dream. Right now isn’t the time though, Michael can tell that. Alex has enough to think about at the moment, this can wait. It’s still weird to think about, the fact that Michael has finally managed to use a power other than telekinesis. After years of trying, of course he would wind up doing it accidentally. Almost getting himself stuck inside of Alex’s mind.

But it did give him a small peek into what the last four years have been like for Alex. A glimpse of his pain. With training and practice, they might be able to use this. Make some progress. They might be able to finally speak to Alex, for real this time.

***

Alex is confused. First, he’d woken up to the darkness again. He’d wanted to scream and cry and try to run, but he remembered how those things would always upset Teave. He was sure they would upset Michael, too. So he’d done his best to stay quiet. To stay quiet and still and hope that someone would come and find him. No one came. No one came and he was beginning to think this time he would never get out. This time the darkness was going to keep him forever. All he could do was curl up and hold himself and try to keep quiet while he cried in fear.

And then Michael was there. Michael was there and he brought the light with him, and Alex was safe again. He was back in the cabin. Michael was holding him and talking about the generator going out and making silly, playful promises like bringing the sun into the cabin. Then Michael brought him into the bathroom to wash him off after his …accident. That was when everything stopped making sense.

Michael getting into the bath with him, holding him like he used to and saying things that just couldn’t be true. Things that Alex would love to be true but knows better than to believe. Things that sounded an awful lot like Teave’s manipulations. He can’t understand it. Isobel said she would fix him. Why does he still think he’s in love with Alex? Why is he still trying to convince him that Teave was lying? And then talking about other men he’s been with, claiming he had feelings for Alex years before Teave even came to Earth. It doesn’t make sense. It can’t be real, no matter how much Alex wants it to be. He’s misunderstanding something. He has to be.

“You okay, Alex?” Kyle asks, pulling him from his thoughts.

He starts to nod, then pauses. Michael told him just a short while ago not to hide his feelings. So instead he shrugs, a far more honest answer. He’s not okay, but he’s not exactly sure what’s wrong, either. Admitting he doesn’t know is closer to sharing his feelings than saying he’s okay.

“Michael mentioned you had a rough night,” Kyle says. He glances at Alex, then back at the road, “Cabin lost power?”

Though he’s sure Michael already told Kyle everything, Alex nods.

“I’m sorry that happened,” Kyle goes on awkwardly. “And I’ll, uh, stop talking about it now.”

Alex isn’t sure why Kyle seems so nervous about it, but he’s grateful to drop the subject. He doesn’t want to think about last night. Not that part of it, anyway. And he can’t exactly ask for advice about the rest of it—the parts that have his mind racing for answers—either, so he’d rather just not think about it at all right now. He doesn’t want to think about what happened or the strange dreams that followed. Memories, more than dreams, except with Michael in them. Not doing anything, just …there, even though he wasn’t when it all happened. He was on Earth for all of those events. He’s just getting things mixed up again, he thinks. Like when Teave first rescued him and he couldn’t even remember his own name. That must be it. Must be why he thinks Michael said those things last night. His brain is scrambled again and he needs to try and get it back to normal. Now that the sun is out and he’s not lost in his own head, he can focus on what’s going on around him and maybe he’ll be able piece together what Michael was _really_ saying to him last night. He just needs to focus.

Liz comes running out to them as soon as they arrive at the diner. She has her arms around Alex before he’s even fully out of the car, hugging him like she didn’t just see him last night. Her voice shakes as she tells him how relieved she is that he’s alright. And how she’s going to kill Michael. Alex doesn’t understand. Why would she be worried? More importantly, why is she mad at Michael? He knows that he and Michael overslept—something that’s entirely Alex’s fault—but Kyle already let her know they were fine. And if something bad had happened to Michael, wouldn’t Max and Isobel have sensed it? He doesn’t get it. 

“I’m sorry I panic called you like that, Kyle,” she says. “Thanks for going out there on such short notice.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kyle replies. “I’d rather us overreact to nothing than underreact to something. Besides, who doesn’t love a chance to yell at Guerin?”

Liz chuckles, “You may have a point there. Still, I feel bad. Have you had breakfast yet? On the house.”

Kyle shrugs, “Who says no to free food?”

“How about you, Alex?” Liz asks. “You eaten yet?”

Alex shakes his head. With all the fuss over the schedule being messed up, Michael had sent him off with Kyle right after instructing Alex to be more open about his feelings.

Liz takes his arm, “Then let’s not waste any more time because, boys.”

“How’s your dad feeling, by the way?” Kyle asks as they head into the diner. There are only a few customers at the moment, not unusual for this time on a Thursday. Things will pick up again around lunchtime.

“He’s okay, just needs to rest. He won’t be working today but Casey’s offered to pick up an extra shift so I’ll be free by noon,” Liz says, ushering Alex into a booth. “Anyway, let me guess, flying saucer cakes?”

Kyle grins, sliding into the seat across from Alex, “You know me.”

She looks at Alex and pauses to think, “U-F-Omelette—cheddar _and_ pepper jack—with bacon and mushrooms?”

A dumbfounded stare is the only response Alex can offer. Liz has always had a knack for remembering details, but he can’t believe she still knows his favorite breakfast order all these years later. He didn’t eat breakfast at the Crashdown all that often, after all. 

“No?” Liz asks, mistaking his surprise for displeasure. “You want me to get you a menu, then?”

Alex shakes his head and gives her a weak smile, hoping to convey that he’s perfectly happy with her suggestion. He’ll eat whatever she brings him, of course, but if the choice _was_ his, that’s exactly what he’d ask for. And he really doesn’t need to look at a menu and be reminded that he still can’t even do something as simple as _read._ He’s tried to practice and Dr. Hartford has even given him workbooks and flashcards to work with, but the words might as well be random scribbles for all he can make sense of them.

She hesitates, “So …is that a yes for the omelette, then?”

He nods.

“Okay,” Liz says, “uh, you guys want coffee?”

“Just orange juice,” Kyle answers. “I’m going straight to bed after this.”

“Right. Alex?” Liz asks. “Coffee? Or orange juice? Water, maybe?”

Alex looks between the two of them for a moment, then shrugs uncertainly. Usually they just put food down in front of him and he eats it. It’s been forever since he’s been offered so many options. Then again, he usually eats with Michael at the cabin, where the only option is whatever Michael has cooked. He’s eaten lunch and dinner at the diner a few times since coming back to Earth, but it didn’t surprise him that Liz remembered his usual orders then; he must’ve eaten hundreds of lunches and dinners at the Crashdown before leaving. But this is the first time he’s eaten breakfast out since coming back, and he’s not sure how to answer Liz’s question. Worse, she seems upset by it. He doesn’t know why that is, but he hates himself for making her day harder.

“Why don’t we just keep it simple and go with O.J.?” Kyle suggests in an attempt to move things along.

“Is, is that okay, Alex?” Liz asks.

Alex nods, eyes glued to the table. He can’t look her in the eye. She’s nice enough to remember these things about him and he can’t even give her basic cooperation in return. He can hear her and Kyle both muttering something, but he can’t make out what they’re saying. After a minute, Liz remarks that she’ll be back with their orders and leaves them. Alex still doesn’t look up. He’s not sure how he can make it up to her and Kyle. How he can make anything up to anyone. 

“Alex,” Kyle’s voice is soft, his face equally so when Alex lifts his gaze to him. “It’s okay. Liz isn’t upset with you.”

Though he knows Kyle is telling the truth, Alex is hardly reassured. Liz may not be upset _with_ Alex, but she’s still upset _because_ of Alex, and that’s unforgivable.

Kyle reaches out, leaning over the table to rest his hand on Alex’s shoulder, “We get it, you know. We do. Teave didn’t let you make decisions. And now …you’re having trouble remembering how. That’s okay.”

He’s not wrong. Alex really isn’t sure how to decide things for himself anymore. The constant stream of _do you want_ and _is it okay if_ is overwhelming. He never knows what the answer is. What’s appropriate. He just wants to be good, but he doesn’t know how. 

“If it’s too much, that’s fine. If you’d rather one of us order your food or whatever, we’ll do that. But we’re not going to stop asking your opinion, because it _matters._ You might not think it right now, but it does.”

Unsure what sort of response Kyle wants to that, Alex struggles to keep himself together. To simply not react at all. Because Kyle’s wrong. What Alex thinks, what Alex _wants,_ doesn’t matter. Nothing could matter less. He’s not like the rest of them. It’s not his place to want. It’s his place to accept what he’s given and to be grateful for it. That’s true no matter what planet he’s on. But it’s also not his place to argue, so he does what he can to just accept what Kyle is saying.

“It’s fine,” Kyle says, “you’ll get it when you’re ready. Until then, we’ll take care of things and you can just relax, okay?”

Alex still doesn't get it, but he nods anyway. All that really matters is that he isn't in trouble for not knowing how to decide on things. They aren't upset with him for following his training. It took him so long to get it right, he doesn’t know what he'll do if he has to abandon it. He doesn't even know who he is without it. 

Liz brings over their food soon enough. She still has plenty of work to do before she can step away, so the two of them eat while she does it. Though she's acting like everything is fine, Alex still wishes he could apologize for upsetting her earlier. Kyle—always knowing just what's on Alex’s mind—assures him again that he hasn't done anything wrong. 

“Trust me, it’s _nothing._ She just wanted to be sure she didn’t bring you something you don’t like.”

It doesn’t matter what he likes, Alex wants to tell him. He’ll eat what he’s given and he’ll like it. 

“She’s developed a thing for ‘preparedness’ over the years,” Kyle explains. “I can’t tell if it started _during_ the Noah thing or right after or maybe when we found out who Teave really was. I think I noticed it around …oh, wait. Has …has Michael told you what happened that night? After Teave kidnapped you?”

Alex shakes his head. No one has told him anything outside of what nice things they’ve been doing with their lives since he’s been out of the way. They don’t talk about that night. They don't talk about Teave. Or when they do, they give him the Voldemort treatment; avoiding his name and speaking in hushed tones just out of Alex’s earshot. It's like they think mentioning him in front of Alex will somehow summon him to them. So he’s both glad and surprised that Kyle is speaking of him so candidly now. He’s not entirely fond of his carefree use of the term ‘kidnap’ but he can’t exactly correct him on it.

“It was rough. We were in bad shape, all of us. But Liz held it together, as much as anyone _could_ in a situation like that. Turns out she had more of her antidote in her car. Not the same one we were using to interrogate Teave; the stronger one she’d developed to save Max. She’d cooked more of it up to see if it could trigger any memories for the pod squad, you remember that?”

He does. He very clearly remembers the altered version of the antidote Liz created for Max, how it had a healing effect that—combined with a surge of energy from the console and whatever it was Michael and Isobel did when they put their hands on it—brought him back to life. He remembers when Liz agreed to make a new batch of it in hopes of helping their memories. And her warning that too much of it could potentially be poisonous.

“She ran out and got it. Thirty cc vial and a syringe. That’s all she had,” Kyle sighs. He shakes his head, an oddly proud look crossing his face, and says, “And _fuck_ did she use it.”

At the time, Alex had been so caught up in getting Teave to stop that he hadn’t considered how they were going to survive their injuries. Max was the most obvious answer, but he couldn’t have healed them all on his own in the condition he’d been in.

Kyle continues, “Gave five to Max, just enough to get his powers going again. He healed me and Maria; my trachea was still in bad shape and her skull was …let’s just say it’s a miracle she was even still alive. He didn’t totally heal us, just got us out of immediate danger. While he took care of us Liz gave five cc’s to Izzy to buy her time; her injuries weren't as life threatening, but they were still pretty bad. Then another five to Max to fix up whatever he’d used healing Maria and me. And then …the rest was for Michael …”

As Kyle trails off, Alex can’t help but wince. He still has nightmares about what Teave had done to Michael that night. They’re few and far between nowadays—and have been since his first time in the Dark Room—but they still make an appearance from time to time.

“He ...it was bad,” Kyle says. He pauses as though considering how best to explain it. “Max couldn’t heal all the damage in one go. Between him and Liz’s antidote, it was barely enough to keep him alive. Max passed out from it. Rosa and Maria were busy gathering up supplies; the Pony’s first aid kit, Maria’s personal first aid kit, _my_ first aid kit from my car. Maria’s nail polish remover and the bottles the pod squad all keep in their cars. Ice, rubbing alcohol. I did what I could with it all after Max passed out. Stabilized Michael’s neck and set his limbs as much as possible. Liz was handling all his cuts and Rosa and Maria were taking care of Max and Izzy, cleaning them up and bandaging and icing them.”

He stops there, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. It must be hard to think about. Alex can't imagine how much work they must have put in just to survive. Survive the damage _he_ inflicted on them. If only he'd realized sooner what Teave wanted, he could have spared them that pain. 

“It took awhile for Max to come to. About an hour and a half, I think. He practically chugged two bottles of nail polish remover the second he woke up. Eventually he was strong enough to heal Michael again, get him out of the woods. Michael still needed to rest for a few days, but we managed to avoid needing a hospital.”

Alex can understand why Liz would develop a need for preparedness after something like that. From the sounds of things, they barely made it. It's possible that if they'd had more supplies on hand, it wouldn't have been such a close call. Then again, if they'd just been lucky enough to have never met Alex it never would've happened in the first place. 

“Anyway,” Kyle says, “since then she’s made sure we each have a good first aid kit in our trunks. Complete with acetone and her antidote.”

Alex doubts they'll need it, but it's always good to be prepared for anything. There are plenty of potential dangers in the universe, even without him calling them down on them.

“We all kinda threw ourselves into something after that night. Emergency prep was Liz’s. Not the worst thing to focus on. Michael …his thing was not so good.”

Kyle pauses again. Jabs his fork into his pancakes. Whatever he's thinking about is upsetting him. It makes sense. Alex can only imagine how ugly the aftermath of having a decade long mind warp removed must be. The pain, the horror, the anger. The realization that he went through it all for nothing. For someone who _meant_ nothing to him. Someone he'd have never even looked at if he'd had the choice. And Alex wasn't even there for him to confront. To take his anger out on. It's no wonder he had a hard time coping with it. At least, it seems, he's doing better these days. 

“First couple of days he was barely conscious. Isobel spent hours in his head every day, making sure Teave hadn’t done any psychological damage. I mean, beyond the obvious.”

Beyond messing with his free will and sending him on a decade long path of destruction. Beyond sending him to _Alex._

“Once he was okay—physically—he shut himself away and just …fell apart. Started obsessing over the console, trying to get it working again. He must’ve tried a hundred different ways to get it powered up again. He bought just about every book on space ever written, even ones he’d ignored before that. I kept telling him he needed to rest but he wouldn't listen. He said he wouldn't rest until he found a way to bring you home.”

That Alex wasn’t expecting. He doesn’t understand. Why would Michael spend his time working to bring Alex _back_ after all he’d done? After they were finally rid of him? Surely Isobel cleared his mind of Teave’s influence while she was in there, didn’t she?

“Cops found your car abandoned about a month later. Max said it was torn up inside and full of blood; we didn't tell Michael that part. That was when you were declared dead. Your funeral was huge. Whole ton of Airmen. Half the town. Your dad was there and Michael—Michael didn't want to go but we convinced him to, for appearances and all—he almost killed him. Max and I were barely able to hold him back and that's after Liz slipped him the pollen. Your brothers didn't even try to help us stop him. They didn't care. Flint knew what really happened, and I think Clay and Greg just hated that they never got the chance to patch things up with you. And your mom …she just stood there. Like she was waiting for someone to tell her it was a joke and you were fine. She didn't move or say anything the whole time.”

Alex doesn’t understand any of what Kyle is talking about. None of it makes any sense. He can't at all picture the scene he's describing. It doesn’t fit. Michael being angry with his father, he gets. Of course he would still feel the rage at what he did to his hand. But Alex hadn't spoken to Greg or Clay in forever by the time he left. He only spoke to his mother now and again, civilly. She's always been different with him than his brothers. Distant. He can't blame her. He’s known since he was a kid that he was the reason she stayed with his father for so long. In order to stand a chance of keeping them, she would've had to run, and she knew she couldn't get away with all of them. The burden of a fourth son was too great for her to try. Her only option was to stay and protect his brothers as long as she could, until she simply couldn't take it anymore and had to go. Had to leave them all behind. Alex just wishes she could've taken the other three at least, kept them from their father. He would've understood, would've taken the pain for all of them. Who knows, maybe then he wouldn't have had the chance to destroy Michael’s life. 

That's not fair, though. He doesn’t begrudge his mother. He never has. It wasn't her responsibility to stop him from ruining everything. She had too much weight on her shoulders already, she didn’t need him too.

“Michael got worse after the funeral. We never saw him. He stayed in his bunker, trying to build a ship or whatever he could think of. He was drinking all the time. Like, _all_ the time. He was almost never _not_ drinking. I don’t think he was fully sober for months. We all tried to help him but he was …not interested,” Kyle says. He rubs the back of his head and sighs heavily, “Things came to a head when I came to tell him that you'd left him the cabin. He, uh, didn't take it well. Let's just say if it weren't for Max, I wouldn't be here.”

Alex flinches. He's seen what happens when Michael loses his temper. He's not unlike his brother that way, though Teave’s destruction is far more deliberate. Michael never _means_ to hurt anyone. Alex hates that Kyle had to be the one to suffer that when it should’ve been him.

“In the end it was Maria who kicked some sense into him. I don't know the details, but I'm told she pulled no punches in telling him it was time to get his head out of his ass,” Kyle snickers. “That same night, he called us all up, told us he had a plan to reach you, and turned it all around. Hasn't been easy. He's had some backslides, big ones. But he kept working at it. Seeing his therapist, not letting himself close off again. He kept saying he wanted to be better for you. Wanted to make sure that when we rescued you, he wouldn’t mess up again. And now …well, you’ve seen him. He’s barely the same person.”

That much is true. Michael isn’t the same person he was when Alex left. Oh, his core is the same. The things that make Michael, Michael. But he’s so much _better_ now. For himself. He’s healthier. He drinks less, eats better. He takes care of himself. He _talks_ to people. He sees a therapist. His burdens have lessened and those he still carries he readily accepts help with. He’s doing so well now, and Alex is so happy for him. He just doesn’t understand where he fits into it. Doesn't understand why any of them—Michael especially—would want to bring him back. Why they thought they needed to ‘rescue’ him in the first place. 

Sure his first few years on Antar were painful and humiliating. Sure he’s been dragged through political affairs and used as a prop and a talking point and spent months as a prisoner of war. Sure Poplital used her position as one of the Chosen to take her grudge against Teave out on him. And sure, it all rendered him silent and helpless and useless as anything but a decoration for Teave’s arm, and even his fellow consorts are more capable than he is now. But really, isn’t that for the best? He brought most—if not _all_ —of that pain on himself, after all. Now that he’s learned his place, he can’t possibly cause any further harm, so it all works out. His friends have thrived over the years with him out of the way and Teave promised that they would be unharmed as long as Alex stayed with him. He’s kept that promise, so why would they try to disrupt it? Alex just doesn’t get it.

“I know this is all probably really confusing for you,” Kyle says, practically reading Alex’s mind. “But it’s gonna be okay, Alex, I promise. We’re gonna get through this.”

Alex nods, though he can’t imagine how. He just doesn’t understand what they want from him. As grateful as he is that Kyle is finally filling in some of the gaps and explaining things, he wishes he’d get to _why_ they’ve done this. Why Michael was so upset that he was gone. Could it have something to do with the things Michael told him last night? Does that mean Alex _is_ remembering it all correctly? But that can’t be. It just can’t.

Kyle talks some more, shifting to lighter topics. Work. The relationship he’s built with Rosa. Some perfusionist he’s been chatting up at the hospital lately. Alex had been surprised when Michael told him that Kyle and Isobel’s relationship lasted less than a year. Michael told him it was an amicable breakup, the two of them simply shifting back into platonic friendship and their romantic feelings becoming an afterthought. 

They’ve both been finished with their food for some time when Liz returns, her shift over at last. Alex stands to follow her into the apartment as Kyle prepares to take his leave. He looks exhausted and Alex tries to remind himself that he’s been instructed not to feel guilty about what happened last night. It’s hard not to when he knows that this morning’s incident wouldn’t have happened if he’d hadn’t accidentally woken Michael up with his crying. He vows to himself that he’ll do better from now on.

After thanking Liz for breakfast, Kyle pulls Alex into a tight hug. He tenses at first, surprised, then relaxes into the embrace. It’s nice. Kyle’s squeezing him so tight it almost hurts, but not in a bad way. It feels secure. He hugs back, though he’s sure his arms feel stiff and awkward in comparison. He can’t help the startled gasp that escapes when Kyle presses a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“We haven’t said this enough, Alex,” Kyle says, still holding him tight, “but I’m so glad you’re home. _So glad._ I missed you. We all missed you and we just …I love you, buddy.”

Alex is more confused than ever.

***

Michael is trying his hardest not to worry. Isobel and Maria should be back with Alex by now. They called and told him they’d be late, but now they’re even later than they said they’d be. He knows nothing’s wrong. He’d sense it if there was. It’s just a long way to the cabin and they hit traffic leaving town. Completely normal, nothing to worry about. But that doesn’t keep him from worrying. From thinking he should’ve gone to pick Alex up himself rather than waiting for them to drop him off. He’s always worried when Alex isn’t around. Paranoia sets in and he finds himself imagining all sorts of horrible scenarios, from mundane Earthly issues like a car wreck to the ultimate nightmare of Teave returning for him.

Four days since the power outage incident and things have become steady again. A new normal. One in which they’ve been following Kyle’s new plan and adapting their treatment of Alex to his new personality. Not quite treating him like a child, but not quite like an adult, either. Every day they give him a routine to follow, expectations to guide him; who he’ll be with, what they’re going to do, what they’ll eat, when he and Michael will go home. Everything is framed carefully to let him know he can refuse while still giving him the comfort he clearly gets from simply being told what to do.

They talk to him about more now. About the past, keeping it light and easy at the moment as they slowly work their way up to the big things. They don’t try to hide things from him, like how the lead box they managed to build around one of the pods isn’t blocking the energy at all. Like how Max can still feel a push from the other side of the portal they created. They openly tell him that Teave was lying, that they were miserable with him gone, that they love him. 

They’ve stepped up the physical reassurances, too. They hadn’t exactly been shy about it before, but now they make sure he almost always has some kind of physical contact with one of them. Always a friendly hand on him or loving arm around him. It’s been awkward and he seemed thrown by the sudden change at first, but Michael thinks it’s working. In its own way. Alex seems to like the attention, if nothing else. Seems more comfortable, especially with Michael.

His concerns about Alex getting the wrong idea from that night, as it turns out, were unfounded. If anything Alex seemed more wary than ever when Michael arrived to pick him up at the Crashdown. When they returned to the cabin, Michael sat him down and discussed it with him carefully. Explained to him that nothing sexual can or will happen between them. Not because Michael doesn’t want it, but because Alex is in no condition for it. Because he can’t consent, and Michael will not take advantage of him. Ever.

Though he was confused, Alex took it well. He didn’t seem hurt or upset by it. He only seemed surprised that Michael was bringing it up at all. But he accepted what Michael told him. Accepted when Michael said he could ask for contact and comfort any time he wanted to. Confirmed that he understood when Michael said he needed to let them know anytime he was uncomfortable by any touch from anyone. 

This morning Michael decided to push his luck just a little and finally tell him about Isobel and Maria. _That_ seemed to really throw him. Alex had stared at him for a long while, uncomprehending. Like he didn’t believe him. Michael can’t blame him. He almost didn’t believe it himself at first. Isobel and Maria had once seemed more likely to kill each other than even be civil to one another. Their relationship was one of mutual tolerance by the time Alex was kidnapped. It’s no surprise that this would confuse him as much as anything else.

Michael almost jumps out of his skin when the alarm goes off on his phone. It took forever for him to figure out how to connect his phone to the perimeter system Alex had set up, but he couldn’t bring himself to try and disable it, either. It’s safer with it on anyway. He hurries to check his phone, unsurprised to see Isobel’s car heading his way. He forces himself to sit on the couch and make it look like he hasn’t been going out of his mind with worry.

“We’re heeere!” Isobel calls, tossing the door open and dramatically stepping through.

“Hey,” Michael replies, trying to sound as casual as he can. He gets to his feet slowly, too slowly to actually be casual.

“All is well,” Isobel declares, giving Michael a peck on the cheek, “and we had a _wonderful_ time.”

“Take it down a notch, Iz,” Maria says, walking in behind her, hand in hand with Alex. “We both know Michael’s been in panic-mode since we told him we were running late, let’s not rub it in.”

“I have not been in panic-mode,” Michael lies. He gives Maria a quick hug and immediately turns his attention to Alex, pulling him into a tight embrace. “You have a good time?”

Alex isn’t looking at him. From what Michael can see of his face, he’s nervous. Ashamed. Not unlike the morning after the blackout, when he’d thought he was going to get into trouble. He’s tense, clutching something against his chest as he gives Michael the smallest of nods.

Keeping one hand on Alex’s shoulder, Michael glances at Isobel and Maria—both wearing a look that assures him nothing is actually wrong—and asks, “Whatcha got there?”

Tensing even more at the inquiry, Alex holds the object out for Michael to see. It’s a box filled with little plastic stars, the label boasting a ‘lifetime of glow in the dark fun.’ Michael doesn’t need to be told what they’re for; putting them up on Alex’s ceiling would probably help him stay grounded if the power were to go out again. What he doesn’t know is why Alex seems upset by them.

“Those’re nice,” He says. “Don’t you want them?”

Still not looking at Michael, Alex nods again.

“He kept looking over at them in the store,” Maria explains, “and I think he thinks he needed your permission to get them. Izzy insisted on getting them for him anyway.”

“I have _four years_ of gifts to catch up on!” Isobel insists.

Maria nods, “Yes, honey, you said that in the store. Anyway, now he’s worried that you’re gonna be upset about it.”

“I’m not upset, Alex,” Michael says, sliding his hand from Alex’s shoulder to his chin and encouraging him to look up. “You don’t need my permission to buy things, but if it makes you feel better you have it. I want you to have the things that you want. Okay?”

“Besides,” Maria adds, letting go of Alex’s hand to drape her arm over his shoulders, “we all know it’s physically impossible to keep Isobel from buying someone a gift.”

“I choose to take that as a compliment,” Isobel declares, hands on her hips.

“It partially is,” Maria replies. She turns her attention back to Alex, “You wanna start setting them up?”

Alex immediately looks to Michael for approval.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Michael assures him, pressing his lips lightly against his temple.

In response, Alex gives Maria a smile that’s only halfway hesitant. She takes his hand again and they disappear into his bedroom.

“Any luck?” Michael asks once he and Isobel are alone. Though they want to be open and honest with Alex about everything, they also try to limit how much they talk about him in front of him like he’s not even there.

Isobel sighs, “Still just fog. Even when he’s asleep. Are you _sure_ you weren’t dreaming?”

Michael hasn’t been able to enter Alex’s dreams since that first time. Nor has he been able to use any sort of telepathy, despite Isobel and Max going through another lesson with him. Neither of them has had any further success with Alex either. Though they didn’t really expect any change from Max—his telepathy is very limited even after years of practice—they’d hoped that Isobel would be able to find Alex’s consciousness now. Her power has grown exponentially over the years, to the point that she can almost entirely control a person even from a distance. Her influence is hard to resist, even more so when Maria uses her own insight to boost her. But even after Michael succeeded in accidentally wandering into Alex’s mind, she hasn’t been able to reach him whether he’s awake or asleep. 

“Definitely sure,” Michael replies. “It was real, Iz, Alex remembers it too.”

“Does he? Or is he just agreeing with you when you ask him?”

“He’s telling the truth,” Michael insists. He knows he is. He knew by the look on Alex’s face when Michael asked. The look of absolute disbelief telling Michael that Alex must have thought it a bizarre dream, was floored to learn it really happened.

“Well,” Isobel sighs, “whatever happened, I still can’t get into his mind. But at least we know it’s possible now.”

“Yeah. Bright side,” Michael mutters.

He's trying his best to stay optimistic. And he's doing pretty well. So he deserves a quick pout now and again when he's disappointed. Doesn't mean he's giving up.

They head into the bedroom and find that Maria and Alex have only managed to get a few stars onto the ceiling. It's not surprising, given that Maria can only reach a small portion of the ceiling by standing on the bed. But Michael thinks they could've gotten more done if Maria had focused on putting the stickers on the ceiling instead of the two of them. She's bent over laughing, talking about something that Michael assumes is an old joke between them from years ago. Alex has that look of quiet amusement they've managed to pull out of him a few times since the rescue. It's enough to tell Michael that as bad as things are, there really is still hope. 

“This seems productive,” Isobel comments.

“C'mere,” Maria replies, waving her over. As soon as Isobel is close enough, Maria jabs one of the stickers onto her forehead and cracks up again. This one isn't a star, it's a crescent moon and Maria declares, “At last, I'm dating Sailor Moon.”

Isobel huffs, “Very funny.”

“You make a good champion of love and justice, Iz,” Michael says, noting the way Alex _almost_ laughs. 

Maria and Isobel don't stay for too much longer. Just long enough to finish putting the stars up and checking to see that they actually work. None of them misses the contentment that Alex can't hide at the sight of them all lit up.

“You know, Max had those when we were kids,” Michael remarks once they’re alone. “I was so jealous. I dunno why. But it looks nice in here. This was a good call, Alex.”

Alex looks away shyly, shrugging awkwardly.

“C'mere,” Michael says, holding his arm out. When Alex steps closer, he pulls him in for another hug and kisses his temple. “I meant what I said, you know. You never have to be afraid to ask for things. You want something, just let us know and we'll get it for you, and no one will be mad. I promise, baby.”

Alex nods. 

“Okay,” Michael sighs, “I think it's time for bed now, huh?”

Going to bed is another thing that's been changed over the last few days. They've started a new routine. Michael no longer asks Alex if he _wants_ to go to bed, he just tells him to—always leaving room for objections that never come—and Alex seems much more comfortable with that than being asked. And now, after Alex washes and changes and takes his pills, Michael actually puts him to bed. Tucks him in like a child, rubs his back or strokes his hair. Watches over him until he falls asleep. He made it clear, of course, that he will only stay until Alex is asleep. That he won't still be in the bed with him when he wakes. Alex doesn’t seem bothered by that part. He just seems happy to have Michael stay with him as long as he does. And at the moment at least, it’s working. He's been sleeping better and seems more rested in the mornings. Whatever fears still haunt him, they're soothed by Michael’s presence and he’s able to actually _rest._

“Did you feel Isobel in your mind at all today?” Michael asks, helping Alex into his bed. 

As Michael drapes the blanket over him, Alex shakes his head, an apologetic expression on his face. 

“That's okay,” Michael replies. “It’s not gonna happen overnight. At least you and me managed it that one time, right?”

Still looking like he wants to apologize, Alex nods.

Michael cups his face, “I know this is hard, Alex. I can’t even imagine how this makes you feel. But we’re gonna get through it. And I know we say that a lot but it’s true. We’ll get through this, darlin’, we will.”

Michael believes that. He really, truly does. Some days it’s harder to keep believing it than others, but he’s not about to let go. Not when they’ve come so far. When they’ve brought Alex home. When he still looks at Michael like he’s everything. When he’s so vulnerable like this, so in need of Michael’s care and protection. 

“You’ll see, one day this’ll all be behind us. You don’t have to believe it right now. You’ll understand it when you’re ready. And I’m gonna be right here when that happens, because I love you, Alex. That’s the truth and no one can ever take it from us.”

***

Alex doesn’t know what to do. Things have changed. Again. Ever since the night the power went out, everyone has started to treat him differently. It’s like they finally understand his proper place—almost. They still ask him about what he thinks, but now it seems like that’s just a formality. They make the decisions. Reward his obedience with praise and affection. They touch him almost as much as the Court did, hugging and hand holding and holding him close. They make sure he’s fully supervised, never by himself for more than a few minutes. It’s nice. He feels right. Secure. Things make sense again.

Mostly. He still has no idea why he’s here. They keep talking about how much they missed him, something they haven’t done since he left the hospital. Tell him stories about the adventures they got into in their quest to reach Antar. A quest that they’d apparently been on since the moment he left. They treat his absence like it was something significant, something damaging. Like Max’s was. It doesn't make sense. 

They should have been happy with him gone. Things should have been easier for them. He wasn't there to cause trouble, to bring threat after threat down on them. To be in the way. And judging by all the stories he's been told, they were happy. But now they're adding all sorts of new details and painting a very different picture. A bittersweet one where all those good things are just brief reprieves from a horrible tragedy surrounding them. Momentary glimpses of peace within an endless nightmare. 

The strangest part is how they all keep insisting that Teave lied to him. They swear it, over and over. Even Michael says it. He doesn't understand. How hasIsobel not fixed his mind yet? Have they really gone all these years still believing that Alex is anything more than a curse on their lives? That he deserves all of this worry? That he deserves _them?_ He can't imagine that after all this time, not one of them decided to do the logical thing and have Isobel search Michael’s mind for the influence Teave planted there. Someone must have cared enough to help Michael. 

But, according to Kyle, they did. Isobel looked in Michael’s mind while he was recovering. So why didn't she find the moment Teave mind warped him? Why didn't she fix it? Maybe she didn't look hard enough. Maybe she didn't look far back enough. Maybe she wasn't strong enough to undo it. Or maybe...

No. He won't go there. He can't. It's not possible. Teave never lies. Not to Alex, at least. He’s always been honest with him. He takes care of him. He protects him. He took the time to train him and turn him from an ungrateful, unruly nothing into a proper consort. He rescued him. He loves him. He has to. Anything less means it was all for nothing. All the pain, the humiliation, the misery, all of it was meaningless. Just a con. It means Alex gave himself away for nothing. 

That can’t be. They were better, safer, _happier_ without him. It’s obvious by how pleasant their lives are these days. Yet they continue to claim otherwise and Alex doesn’t _understand._ He’s just so _confused._

He tosses and turns in his bed tonight, long after Michael has gone back to the couch. Alex feels guilty about pretending to fall asleep so he'd leave, but he knows there's no chance he'll fall asleep for real tonight and he doesn't want to make Michael hover over him all night. As much as he's loving the attention, he knows Michael needs his sleep. It seems like every day there's something new for him to discover about his loved ones. Today’s discovery—about Maria and Isobel’s relationship—was one of the last things he ever expected. He never thought they would do more than tolerate one another. And yet when they took him out today—the first time he's been alone with the pair since coming back—the love between them was practically tangible. It's because of him, they and Michael said. Because they bonded while working together to find him. It almost makes him wonder if it's all some kind of bizarre prank. 

He can't figure out what to do. What he's _supposed_ to do. What _Teave_ would have him do. 

_Be good._

The last words Teave said to Alex before Michael took him back to Earth. Be good. Alex is trying to. He really is. But how can he be good when he doesn't know what to do? He doesn't know what they want. 

But that's not entirely true. He does know one thing. Max gathered them all together weeks ago to announce that the portal they'd created was being pulled open by someone from the other side. By Teave, probably. And they want him to fail at that. They want the portal to stay closed. They've spent weeks trying to figure out how to keep it closed. How to prevent the energy from the pods from powering it. But they don't know how. They have no idea what can block the energy from the pods. 

Alex knows. 

He suspected from the beginning that Rosa’s lead idea wouldn't work. He thought perhaps it _could_ have worked; he really didn’t know for sure whether or not lead would block out the energy from the pods. But now he knows it doesn't. And more importantly, he knows what will. He wants to be good. He wants to please Michael, to make him happy. He may not understand it, but he finally knows how he can do that. 

It takes time to gather up the courage he needs. He looks up at the ceiling, the little star stickers and the gentle blue glow from his lamp making him feel safer than he has in years. And his family made that happen. They’re so good to him, so much better than he could ever be to them no matter how hard he tries. He doesn’t know if it’s out of kindness or if it really is love, but he knows he has to repay them. He has to do _something_ to earn it. That used to mean using the skills he’d gained as an Airman to protect them, keep their secret safe. That’s not the case anymore. There’s just one thing he can do now. The very thought of it scares him. Teave probably won’t be happy with him when he finds out about it. He’ll probably be angry with Alex, might see fit to punish him. That fear alone has kept Alex from even considering it. But Teave also told him to be good, and that means taking this burden off of his family’s shoulders. He has to.

He takes several deep breaths, then finally sits up and reaches for his crutches. Michael always leaves them right where he can get them easily. He makes his way to the living room, his path lit by the little plug-in lights Michael bought, just as he promised. How Michael can be so good to someone so undeserving, Alex will never know. What he does know is that he loves this man with everything he has, and he can’t keep that buried any longer. Teave’s consort or no, there is nothing Alex won’t do for Michael Guerin and he’s going to prove that once and for all.

Michael looks peaceful right now, sound asleep on the couch. Alex hates to disturb him, but he needs to do this now. Before he loses his nerve. So he sits at the edge of the coffee table and gently shakes Michael by the shoulder. He startles at first, obviously not expecting to be pulled so suddenly from his slumber. The second he realizes that it’s Alex waking him, he bolts upright.

“Alex? What’s wrong, baby, what happened?” He asks, both hands coming up to cup his face. 

Alex opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again. One word. He just has to say one word. That's it. He can do it.

Michael watches as Alex struggles, unsure of what to do. Alex has never done anything like this before. Never intentionally woken Michael up, never made an active attempt at …well, anything. Whatever is happening now, it's either very good or very bad. He prepares himself for the latter but prays for the former.

Alex keeps trying, but all he can get out is something between a whine and a gag. It's getting hard to breathe, each breath ragged and unhelpful. He grips the end of the coffee table, trying to steady himself as he tries again. He can feel tears beginning to form in his eyes but he refuses to let them fall. This isn't the time to cry. He has to do this. He has to _say_ this.

It's painful for Michael to keep watching this. Alex’s frustration is tangible. He looks ready to cry. He's on the verge of hyperventilating. Michael wants to hold him and comfort him, encourage him. Take away this burden that's plaguing him. But he dares not disrupt his concentration. Dares not take this moment from him. For the first time since they brought him home, Alex is making a decision for himself and Michael will not take that away from him. 

“G-g …” Alex can barely force out a syllable. He keeps trying. “G …go …” 

As hard as he tries, Alex can’t hold back his discouraged groan. Why can’t he do this? It’s just one word. He’s said millions of them over the course of his life. He can say one now. 

“G-go …” Alex swallows the heavy lump in his throat. Pauses. Gathers all his focus. Breathes in deep and finally says, “Gold.”

Michael’s heart almost bursts. This isn’t a dream. They aren’t inside of Alex’s mind. It’s real. And Alex is speaking. Just one stuttered word, but he’s _talking._

“Y-you’re cold?” He asks, trying to pull Alex into his arms to warm him.

To his surprise, Alex pushes him away with a loud, frustrated whine and shakes his head. 

“Gold.”

“Gold?” Michael questions. “Like, jewelry?”

Alex nods and makes a quiet noise of confirmation.

“I …I don’t understand,” Michael admits. “What about gold?”

Right. This part Alex hadn’t considered. Of course Michael has no idea what he means when he has no context to go off of. He has no way to know what Alex is thinking. 

He lifts his hands and positions them as though holding a ball and repeats, “Gold.”

Michael shakes his head, “I’m not sure …gold ball? Gold circle, gold …ring?”

Alex had plenty of gold on him when Michael brought him home. Rings, bracelets, necklaces. They had to take them from him before they could bring him to the hospital, knowing that anything he had on him would’ve been used as evidence. There’s probably no way anyone could’ve concluded it all came from space, but better not to take any chances. Does he want them back? They’re still at the cave, Michael thinks. Or …is he trying to talk about the circular gold seal that was in his back? Just thinking about it—that Teave would actually go as far as _branding_ Alex, somehow embedding the metal right into his skin—makes Michael sick. Poor Kyle had spent over an hour trying to recover from having to remove it from his back. Worse, it was the one thing Alex seemed upset about. Like he _wanted_ to stay branded. Just another reason Michael wishes he’d killed Teave when he had the chance.

Dropping his head into his hands, Alex sobs in frustration. It’s not fair. All he has to do is tell Michael this one thing. And he can’t do it, even after getting the word out. He can’t make Michael understand what he means. It’s just not fair.

“Okay,” Michael soothes, taking Alex’s face into his hands and pressing their foreheads together, “it’s okay. It’s okay, Alex. We’ll figure this out. I’ll get it, baby, I’ll get it. We can do this. We’re gonna be okay.”

Alex clings to Michael's shirt and cries out. He can't believe this. He's trying so hard and it's still not working. Why is this always what happens to him? Why can't he just get something right? Why? _Why?_

Michael slides one hand down to rub Alex’s back, his heart breaking as he listens to him cry. He sounds like a child throwing a tantrum. It makes sense; Alex has a lifetime of pain in him and no other way to express it. He can’t speak, can’t write, can barely make sense of the goings-on around him. He really isn’t that far from being a child again. But at least he's doing something, trying to take initiative. He's speaking. Sort of. Michael can't understand what makes gold so important that Alex is killing himself to tell him about it, but clearly it matters to him. How can he possibly encourage him to open up more and keep talking if he can't even understand what he's trying to tell him? 

“It's okay, darlin’,” He says again. “You just let it out and we'll try again as soon as you’re up for it.”

He doesn’t want to, but Alex keeps on crying. He must be an awful sight right now. The ugly sound of his sobs is making him want to scream even more. But he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to make Michael understand. Michael keeps rubbing his back, keeps trying to comfort him, and eventually Alex doesn’t have the strength to keep crying. It doesn’t make him feel any better, just tired. He sinks down and rests his head against Michael’s chest.

“Did I tell you about how I had to learn how to adult while you were gone?” Michael asks, hoping that filling the silence will make Alex feel more comfortable.

Sniffling, Alex shakes his head.

“It was rough,” Michael admits. “The extent of my grown up knowledge was go to work, eat, and pay taxes. And I wasn’t even that good at it. Did the bare minimum at work. You saw my diet. Max did my taxes for me.”

He chuckles at the memory, at how Max would try so hard to convince him to do these things for himself. And fail every time.

“After Maria made it clear what a dick I’d been and we started figuring out how to open the portal with the pods, I started seeing Dr. Stacies. Maria hooked me up with her, and she really helped me out. Helped me put _a lot_ into perspective. And she said that I needed to create a healthier life for myself to feel better. No more binge drinking or bar fights, better diet. Regular hours. I fucking _hated_ it at first. Kept reminding myself that the better I did, the sooner we’d be able to rescue you. And everyone stood right by me.”

With only minimal gloating from his siblings. Playfully. Lovingly. Always accompanied by telling him how proud they are.

“One step at a time, little changes at first. Then it got to be more and more. Max had a field day calling me every morning to make sure I was getting out of bed when I was supposed to. Liz and Kyle made a fucking diet plan for me. Rosa and I go to group sessions together sometimes. She made me go to a cooking class with her too; it was cool but I happen to think I was already a pretty good cook.”

Alex nods in agreement and Michael can’t help but laugh. He’d only cooked for Alex twice back then, but it’s nice to know he enjoyed it.

He kisses the top of his head and goes on, “Probably the most embarrassing thing was being thirty and needing Isobel to teach me how to do my own fucking laundry. Like, properly, not just dumping the clothes in and that being that. Turns out I had no idea how much detergent to use and what settings were—”

Before Michael can finish, Alex jerks out of his arms and scrambles to get his crutches. He moves as quickly as he can, to where Michael keeps the laundry supplies. He plucks one of the detergent pods from the box and hurries back. 

Holding his free hand up, he sits back down on the coffee table and says, “Gold.”

“Okay,” Michael replies, waiting to see where Alex is going with this.

He wraps his free hand around the pod and repeats, “Gold.”

“Laundry?” Michael questions. “Um, gold …soap? Detergent …”

Alex huffs and shakes his head. He shoves the pod into Michael’s hand and repeats himself again.

Michael stares at the little thing for a moment longer before it finally clicks and he gasps, “Pods. You’re talking about the pods!” 

Nodding enthusiastically, Alex folds Michael’s hand over the pod and says once more, “Gold.”

“Gold,” Michael says. “Gold …around the pods? Y-you want us to put gold around the pods? Like, instead of lead?”

With a heavy, exhausted sigh of relief, Alex drops his head onto Michael’s shoulder and nods. At last. At long last Michael understands.

“And that, that’ll block the energy?” Michael asks.

Alex hums softly in affirmation.

“Are you sure? I, I mean, I believe you, but are you sure?” Michael asks. 

He doesn’t want to question Alex, to make him doubt himself. And he knows that gold can be used in blocking radiation. But it requires far thicker shields and obtaining enough gold to surround even one pod will be exponentially more difficult than getting the lead was. They have to be sure before they try anything.

Alex nods. Of course he’s sure. Antarans have used gold to shield their pods for centuries. There’s no reason for it to not work now.

“Okay,” Michael whispers, wrapping his arms around Alex. “So …gold, then. I’ll …I’ll call a meeting and we’ll discuss it with everyone. We’ll tell them, tell them what you just told me. What you said. God, Alex, you _said_ it. You’re talking. You really did it, baby. You did it.”

Alex nods. He certainly doesn’t need to be told he’s spoken. He feels like he might pass out from the strain of it. Dizzy. Lightheaded. But relieved. Michael knows what he needs to know now.

There’s a lot Michael wants to say right now. A lot he _needs_ to say. He needs to call everyone and tell them what he’s learned. To share this wonderful news of Alex finding his voice again. Even if it was just one word and even if it’s months before he can do it again, he _spoke._ And what’s more, he did it unprompted. Made his own decision. He even did it in a way that was a slight inconvenience to Michael. Not that he cares about being woken up; he’ll stay awake all night if it makes Alex happy. But he knows Alex is always worried about disturbing others—always has been—and the fact that he deemed this important enough to put that aside speaks volumes. It’s a huge step for him. And the group needs to know about it.

Which they will. Michael will call them soon and gather everyone together. Discuss how to proceed with this information. Soon. But for now, for now he just wants to hold Alex close and bask in this little victory.


	29. the quiet garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sudden betrayal within the Collective forces Alex to protect his enemy in order to save himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been about two months since I last updated. Sorry about that. I would love to promise that that won't happen again, but unfortunately I really can't guarantee that. What I can promise is that I _will_ deliver the rest of this fic no matter how long it takes me.
> 
> Warnings today include: brief non-con, possibly disturbing sequences of mind control, violence, ableism, and mentions of Christian practices (I know religion being incorporated can be off putting to some, but it's just Alex thinking about celebrating Easter as a kid which, you know, his dad is a white supremacist so I assume being a church going man was part of his image, as well as a vague, half-baked and partly accidental reference to the temptation of Eve)
> 
> And just to avoid any confusion, this is after 26-the queen of diamonds, but before the wedding.

After his successful presentation to the Queen, Alex gets a brief reprieve. There's only a few _big events_ in the weeks following it, which Teave elects to attend alone. He's easier on Alex now that they have Queen Maga’s blessing, much more lenient. The atmosphere of the castle is more relaxed, the servants relieved by Teave's happiness as much as Alex is. It won't last, Alex knows. Soon the need for perfection will return and he'll be back under his rigid expectations. But he's going to enjoy it while he has it, this brief rest. 

Though he likes to spend most of his time in the gardens, he and Endy sit across from each other on the floor of one of the parlors today, a heavy storm keeping them indoors. They’re both comfortable; his prosthetic is off to the side and she isn’t holding herself with her usual, rigid posture. Between them is a checkerboard Alex drew on the back of one of his many portraits. Pink and purple pebbles that Endy collected from the garden serve as their pieces. Alex began teaching her several days ago. Endy has picked up the game quickly, and has now beaten him twice in a row today. 

“You're cheating,” he teases as they start again. 

She laughs, “How?”

“You're reading my mind and anticipating my moves,” Alex replies.

She feigns offense, “I would _never._ I am an honorable checkered player.”

“Checkers,” Alex corrects.

“An honorable _checkers_ player.”

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

“What?” Endy snickers.

“It's from a play,” Alex explains.

“Which one?” Endy asks, always eager to hear about Earth stories. 

“Hamlet. I don’t think I've told you that one,” Alex replies. “It's very popular but not really one of my favorites.”

“Tell me anyway,” Endy says. 

Alex tries to remember the details, “Um …okay let me think. So, the gist of it is, Prince Hamlet is haunted by his dad's ghost, and ghost-dad says his death wasn't an accident, he was murdered. By his brother, Hamlet's uncle uh …Claudius. But, Hamlet can’t just take revenge because he doesn’t know if he’s really seeing his dad’s ghost or if he’s just going crazy, so he sets up a plan to get his uncle to confess. So he has these minstrels perform a play that’s exactly how ghost-dad says he was murdered.”

“Oh, because his uncle is the only living person who knows the truth and seeing it recreated would confuse him.”

“Yeah, exactly. And Hamlet’s mom—oh, uh, she married the uncle after the dad’s death and he’s really mad at her for it—she says that about a woman in the play. The play _they’re_ watching, I mean; she’s based on her and denying having an affair so much it’s suspicious, so she says that she’s protesting too much.”

“Well,” Endy says, “I protest exactly the right amount.”

Alex laughs, “Yes, Endy, _exactly_ the right amount.”

“So did Claudius kill the king after all?”

Alex nods, “Yeah, he did. He poisoned him. And then he …um, Hamlet also has this girlfriend, Ophelia, and he’s kinda treating her like shit and accidentally kills her dad. I don’t remember how but he did. She has kind of a breakdown and kills herself, so her brother—whose name I don’t remember—challenges Hamlet to a duel. And uh, somehow Claudius rigs it, I think, so the brother can kill Hamlet. And there’s more poison involved somewhere that Hamlet’s mom drinks on purpose, I think, to protect Hamlet. And I think Hamlet kills Ophelia’s brother and his uncle but also gets fatally wounded himself and dies too.”

 _“What?_ ” Endy questions. “He _dies?”_

“Yeah. It’s a tragedy.”

“It sounds like a big waste of time,” Endy remarks. “Everyone dies!”

“There’s a lot of Earth stories like that,” Alex admits. “Some people like them. Like I said, not really my favorite. Except the version where they’re all lions.”

“Lions?”

"Large cats," Alex explains. 

"Can I see?" Endy asks. 

“Sure, go for it,” Alex says with a shrug.

He can feel Endy connect their minds together and he begins to picture lions in his mind. Thinks about every nature documentary he's ever seen and his third grade class trip to the zoo. 

“They’re beautiful,” Endy says. 

“They are pretty cool,” Alex replies. 

“But how do you get them to perform a play?”

Alex laughs, “We don't. I was talking about a cartoon.”

“The drawings that move?”

Antar's advances in science and technology are incredible. Space travel and holograms and complex maglev systems. And yet Endy was delighted at the simple concept of cartoons. She'd been sure at first that he was teasing her, until he drew his own flip book for her. Not even a particularly good one; just a stick figure walking. He’s really no artist. But Endy had gasped, unable to believe what she was seeing and insisting that humans must have magic powers of their own to do such things. He's still not sure she believes his explanation that it's just a simple trick of the mind. 

He nods, “Yeah, based on Hamlet. But everyone is a lion and they live. Not the uncle, he still dies, but everyone else.”

“That sounds exciting,” Endy comments. “I wish I could see that.”

“Me too,” Alex replies. “There's a lot on Earth I think you'd really enjoy, Endy. If I could show it to you first hand I would.”

He can't though. He can't go back to Earth and he certainly can't show it to Endy. He can only show her his memories. They don't compare to the real thing. Not by a long shot. 

“Well it's still nice to see some of it,” Endy says, hoping to keep the mood from falling. 

They play again. The common people of Antar don’t have much in the way of entertainment. Most of it is reserved for the elites, the poor far too overworked and exhausted to have much time for pleasure anyway. There are a few children’s games that Endy has taught Alex, her favorite being one remarkably similar to hopscotch that is, of course, somewhat difficult for Alex. But most of the other games involved the use of telekinesis or telepathy and Alex is unable to learn them at all. He tries instead to recall every game he can from Earth that he can easily recreate from scratch here. Tic-tac-toe was the easiest, until Endy understood it well enough that every game resulted in a draw; just like when he was a teen and would play it with Rosa time and again despite always ending in a tie. They spent several hours creating their own deck of cards so he could teach Endy Go Fish and Old Maid. Sometimes he thinks about teaching her to play Poker, but he doesn’t know what they can use to bet with other than maybe more pebbles. He’d like to teach her Rummikub next, but he can’t quite remember all the rules to it, so for now, Checkers it is.

It’s not a bad way to spend his days. Certainly better than sitting around and wishing he could just skip to the end of his life and be done with it. At least with Endy, he feels like he actually _has _a life. Like he’s more than just Teave’s property. He’s not, of course. He knows that. If he wants to keep his loved ones safe, he doesn’t get to be more than that. But it's nice to pretend, sometimes.__

__“Lord Teave is coming,” Endy announces suddenly._ _

__They act quickly, hurriedly gathering up all of the pebbles and sliding them under the couch so they won’t be seen. Endy floats the painting back up onto the wall where it belongs, at the same time helping Alex onto the couch. He stretches out and positions himself so that he appears to have been looking out at the rain while Endy stands dutifully beside him. They have just about half a minute to spare before the door opens and Teave strolls into the room._ _

__“What’re you doing in here?” He questions._ _

__Alex turns to look at him and shrugs, “Brooding?”_ _

__Teave scoffs and rolls his eyes, “You’re so dramatic.”_ _

__“Would you rather I eat my boredom instead?”_ _

__“You're not funny,” Teave says, “now get over here.”_ _

__“Did I do something?” Alex asks, putting his prosthetic back on and crossing the room to him._ _

__Teave wraps his arm around Alex and says, “Not at all. In fact, quite the opposite; I have something for you.”_ _

__“I’ll try to contain myself,” Alex mutters._ _

__“Don't backtalk me, bunny,” Teave replies._ _

__He’s not actually angry. There’s no one around to impress and he’s in a good mood about something. He just has a chronic need to get in the last word. So Alex stays quiet as he’s led through the halls and tries not to imagine what Teave is planning now. Whenever Teave claims he has something for Alex, it usually means another uncomfortable outfit to be shown off in. He makes the best of it he can and reminds himself that he agreed to this life._ _

__“The Queen is having a get-together in a few days,” Teave explains as they enter one of the chambers used as a fitting room where a tailor is waiting for them. “To celebrate the birth of her first great grandchild.”_ _

__“I didn't know one of her grandkids was expecting,” Alex remarks, stepping up onto the pedestal in front of the mirrors and letting Endy and the tailor undress him. It's a lie. He did know about the pregnancy. Endy told him over a month ago when the baby was born. Servants always know these things, after all._ _

__“That's because I didn't tell you,” Teave states. “You’ll know these things when I _want_ you to.”_ _

__“Of course, my Lord, forgive my inquisitive nature.”_ _

__“Don’t be a brat,” Teave says. “I’m sure I don’t need to explain to you that this is a very important occasion.”_ _

__Alex sighs, “And I will be your perfect good boy and make sure everyone knows you're the best choice to succeed her majesty.”_ _

__“Perfect is key,” Teave replies, ignoring the sarcasm in Alex’s voice. “I mean it, Alex. Things are different now that the marriage has been approved of. No more mistakes, no more slip-ups. No talking without permission, no fussing when people want to touch you. You _must_ be _perfect.”__ _

__“I understand, Teave,” Alex says. “We're officially engaged now and if I mess up it reflects poorly on you _and_ the Queen.”_ _

__Poorly on Teave for bringing Alex here. On Queen Maga for her approval of him. Both of which Teave will take out on Alex. Or worse, his family. Maybe even Endy and the other servants. He can't let any of that happen._ _

__“Don’t forget it,” Teave warns. “Everything until now has been practice, from now on it's the real deal.”_ _

__“I’ll be good,” Alex promises._ _

__“Good boy,” Teave says, stepping behind Alex and planting a kiss on his cheek. “Well, you all know what to do, I’ll leave you to it, then.”_ _

__Endy and the tailor both curtsy as Teave walks out of the room. The tailor gets to work, measuring Alex for about the millionth time and checking that whatever designs Teave has ordered him to make will work on his body. It’s not an enviable position, having to meet Teave's expectations. At least the ones he has for Alex are simple. Rooted in routine and easy to accomplish. Most of it involves Alex not actually _doing_ anything. For the servants and those Teave hires—tailors and artists, usually—it's the opposite. His desires are grand, exquisite things. Failure to meet them will end their livelihoods, leave them and their entire family disgraced. There are no second chances. Alex does what he can to help them succeed, unsure it will ever truly be enough._ _

____

***

Sometimes Alex thinks Antarans will use any excuse they can to throw a party. They're constant, these declarations of their glory. It's exhausting. Alex has never liked big crowds and parties to begin with, and Antaran celebrations are beyond anything else he's ever seen. It explains a lot, though, about Michael, Max and Isobel’s dramatics. He's not sure even they would like any of this though. Maybe Isobel, but he thinks even she would quickly find it all pretentious and too much. _Sometimes subtlety is more,_ she'd told him once as she put together ideas for Kyle’s birthday. A celebration Alex didn't get to go to. Had he been on Earth for it, it would have been the first social gathering he and Michael would’ve attended as a proper couple. He tries not to wonder how it went.

This year has seen more events at the Queen’s castle than usual. An effort to prevent people from focusing on the Alighting’s reemergence and the disturbances they’ve caused. And the Court plays right into it, seeing the celebrations as a sign that there’s really nothing to worry about after all. There is no threat to the Collective Consciousness that’s worth changing their way of life over. So here they are, gathered yet again at Castle Sepsimia to bask in the Collective’s greatness, and Alex feels like the only person who comprehends what a political distraction is.

A sea of color surrounds him, both from the fashion and the foliage. The Queen usually selects themes for the various stages of her functions, and this afternoon’s theme is color itself. Appropriate for a baby, Alex supposes. The guests are all in flashy, vibrant outfits, all trying to earn her attention. They’re mingling in one of the Queen’s gardens, a grove of trees blooming with brightly colored fruits and flowers. Though servants of the High Court typically wear a uniform that consists of the same simple black top and green pants or skirt, during special events the bottoms may be adorned with a pattern to better fit the occasion. Today their skirts and pants are colored with a variety of different shades of green and yellow as they stand strategically around with trays of food and drinks. A band that Alex can only describe as an alien string quartet play elegant tunes on instruments he would love to learn about, all dressed in multicolored uniforms. It’s almost overwhelming, how colorful everything is.

Alex sits beside Teave at one of the many little round garden tables set out, quietly sipping his tea and trying to ignore how uncomfortably tight his sparkling sapphire bodysuit is. There are several gold bracelets around his wrists that bump into each other with a soft _clink_ whenever he moves, each embedded with colorful gems. His makeup is the same deep, sparkling blue as his clothing and he has a rainbow of gems through his ears, his nose ring an iridescent blend of various colors. Today’s neuro-bridge is another simple gold choker. Teave’s own pantsuit matches Alex’s in color, but is simpler in design and sans sparkles. He, too, has a handful of bracelets on; his are multicolored chainmail and fit more snugly on his wrists. 

Alongside them are Kelico and Isdey, wearing a pair of matching gowns, Kelico’s purple and Isdey’s aqua blue. Their jewelry—beaded bracelets and dangling beaded earrings—combine the colors of their gowns artfully. Miripe and Vanka have yet to arrive. While they wait for them, they discuss the new baby and how _nice_ it is that House Sepsimia has a new addition. Alex doesn’t think any of them is actually all that happy about it; it just means more competition for their heirs down the line, after all. But they all play their parts, Teave and Kelico both smart enough to know how to play a situation. Isdey is following his wife’s lead. As always. He’s a _proper_ and traditional consort and Teave has instructed Alex many times to learn from him. It’s not hard. He takes his cues from Kelico, mirroring or accentuating her at every turn. An extension of her will, in all things. He can barely even be considered a person. Alex would feel sorry for him were it not for the way Isdey looks down his nose at him the same as the rest of them.

He's softening, though, as most of them have been in the last few months. Coming to accept that Alex is here to stay, whether they like it or not. He has the Queen’s approval and there's nothing more to be said on the matter. Her word is law. Most people seem to like him well enough though; it’s mostly those who don't want to see Teave take the throne that are holding out. As one of Teave’s direct rivals, Kelico and her family naturally fall into that category. Still, she seems to be the most accepting of him, the one most concerned with ensuring Antar's continued good fortune regardless of who rules. She's aware that Alex—for whatever reason—has more than just Queen Maga’s approval. She's interested in him, intrigued by him. Add to that how he accidentally thwarted the Alighting’s plan to get an edge over the Collective and he's done wonders for Teave’s chances at being her successor. Kelico is no fool; she knows that with her odds of winning dwindling, the next best option is to be Teave’s number one ally. 

That doesn't mean she's given up altogether, of course. Alex can still see the gears turning in her mind as she seeks one last opportunity to put herself back on top. He hates himself for keeping tabs on that fact, for looking out for ways to counter her. He doesn't want to help Teave win. He doesn't want anything to do with any of this. But if Teave doesn't win, Alex knows what the price will be. 

“They must have kept it a secret so long so the heathens wouldn't get any ideas,” Kelico says of the new baby.

“I can't see why else they would,” Teave agrees. 

They're both wrong, Alex knows. The pregnancy wasn't kept secret because of the Alighting. It was kept secret because the baby almost didn't make it. The news Endy received from one of House Sepsimia's servants was that the mother to be was in bed for months, their healers uncertain if she would even survive. Antarans view extended bedrest as a sign of weakness, something the Queen would never allow in her family. So the secret was kept until it became certain that Keloe, consort of the Queen’s oldest grandson, would be able to deliver safely and have time to recover from it. Sometimes Alex wonders if Teave realized how much of an advantage he'd have over the rest of the High Court if he only took the time to befriend his servants. 

Isdey glances at Kelico, and upon receiving a nearly imperceptible nod, asks, “Have you heard anything about his name, Lord Teave?” He bows his head politely as he speaks. 

“Not yet,” Teave replies. “I suppose we'll know when they present him.”

“I'm sure it'll be a good, strong name,” Kelico comments, tracing her fingers lovingly along her consort's back. “But that reminds me, Teave, I've been meaning to ask you. How do humans get their names? Did _you_ name Alex or was that its name already?”

Alex keeps his expression controlled, focuses on his tea. 

Teave chuckles, “He came with it. Humans aren't the brightest of species but they do have names.”

“I hope I didn't offend you with that,” Kelico says. She means Teave and only Teave. “It's such a simple creature and yet there’s ...something about it. Like you never quite know.”

“That's exactly what I’ve been telling you all,” Teave says. “Most humans are exactly what you see on the surface, but Alex is different. He’s a real diamond in the rough.”

Alex has to fight to keep from rolling his eyes. Leave it to Teave to ruin _Aladdin_ for him.

Vanka joins them soon, dressed in a sleeveless black jumpsuit with colorful patterns that give it the appearance of being covered in paint. There’s a woman Alex has never seen before on her arm, in a green dress with brightly colored flowers over her chest. Woman is barely even the right word; she doesn't seem to be any older than twenty. Her skin is bronze and her hair is black and though there's a polite smile on her pretty face, there's apprehension in her dark brown eyes. Alex doesn't blame her; Endy mentioned to him that she'd heard rumors of Vanka courting a commoner, and if she's her, she's almost as out of place here as Alex. Vanka introduces her as Wos and she curtsies in greeting, tells them she's honored to be in their presence. Alex understands now why Teave decided to bring him along today; he has new competition to size up. 

As soon as they're seated, Vanka begins talking Wos up immediately. Describes how she met her, how she took immediate interest in her. She's an artist. A painter. Members of the Court and even the High Court have commissioned her, even though she comes from the Middle Ring. She smiles appreciatively every time Vanka compliments her, appropriately grateful and enamored. She's almost as good at hiding her fear as Alex is. Of course, she's probably worried that she'll disgrace her family if she makes a mistake, not that they'll be murdered in cold blood. 

“Uncle Micon actually commissioned her the first time,” Vanka says. “To paint a mural in the third floor library. She did _such_ an incredible job that he spoke of it to the day he died.”

She pauses and they have a brief moment of silence in honor of the late Lord Micon. A tragic and unexpected passing that threw Vanka into the role of Council Member far too suddenly for her to really be ready.

“Well, well, look who’s here,” Miripe calls out, interrupting the moment and approaching the rest of them with Meltru on his arm. He’s dressed in a striped rainbow jumpsuit, Meltru in a pastel rainbow gown. As he reaches them, Miripe snickers, “I was starting to think you were never going to bring the pretty little human out again.”

Teave raises an eyebrow at him, “And _what_ would have given you that idea?”

“Well you've been hiding it away for months now,” Miripe says. “I'd just assumed that after getting the Queen’s blessing, you'd have wanted to show it off all the more.”

Teave hums, lifting his tea cup to his lips, “Seems you were wrong on both accounts.”

“Pretty unusual for you, Teave,” Miripe comments, tracing a finger along the back of Alex’s neck. “Hiding like that. Having second thoughts?”

Alex fights to keep still, but Miripe is disturbing the neuro-bridge and his touch feels like a hot poker tearing into his skin. He holds his breath, hoping the pain will pass quickly. By the way Miripe keeps at it, Alex suspects he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Oh, Miripe,” Kelico says, “how long are you going to keep being stubborn about this?”

 _“Forgive_ me for caring about tradition,” Miripe replies, his finger still pressed into Alex’s neck, even as Meltru takes one of the two remaining seats. 

“Forgive _me,”_ Vanka says, “but I was in the middle of a story that you've now interrupted, Miripe.”

Miripe laughs, “How rude of me. So sorry, Vanka, I didn't realize. Ah, and this must be the little painter you've been courting.”

“She is,” Vanka says. “Wos, say hello to Miripe.”

Wos bows her head, “It's an honor to meet you, my Lord.”

She looks even more anxious now than she did a moment ago. Alex doesn't have the time to wonder why; he's far too busy trying to ignore the pain Miripe is inflicting on him. His finger is digging into his spine, lighting every nerve ablaze. It’s worse than the normal neuro-bridge pain, sharp and searing. He wants to scream. All he can do is keep his hands folded in his lap and clench his fists until his iridescent rainbow painted nails dig into his palms and start to draw blood. He's not sure how much more of this he can take. He can feel Endy trying to connect her mind to his and dull the pain but she can't quite get through the neuro-bridge's interference. Teave is obviously aware of what’s happening, but he makes no move to stop Miripe. Not that Alex expects him to. Not that he expects anyone to give a damn about his pain. Other than Endy, of course. But no one who can actually _do_ anything about it is going to. 

He clenches his jaw and squeezes his eyes shut. He can’t even focus on the conversation going on around him anymore. The pain is too much. He wants to turn around and grab Miripe’s wrist and snap the damn thing. Wants to punch his smug face in. Tell him to fuck off and leave him the hell alone. He doesn’t get to do that, though. He just has to take it. Take it and hope it passes soon. Hope that—

“My Lord, you’re hurting it!” Wos blurts suddenly. All eyes turn to her and she shrinks into herself, her head bowed deeply, “F-forgive me, I did not mean to speak out of turn. I am so sorry.”

“You certainly _should_ be,” Miripe replies, indignant.

_“Really,”_ Vanka scolds, _“what_ has gotten into you?”

“The hu-I mean, Lord Teave’s consort, it’s in pain,” Wos replies meekly.

“Well, she’s not wrong,” Teave says calmly, glancing at Alex as though just noticing him. 

He snatches Miripe’s hand away from Alex’s neck, pulling a heavy sigh of relief from him. The pain level immediately returns to its normal, barely-tolerable level and Alex feels like he might burst into tears. He dares not pick his head up to look at them, certain he won’t be able to stay quiet if he does. Won’t be able to stop himself from thanking Wos for her interference. He just hopes she doesn’t get into too much trouble for it. Teave rubs his hand over the back of Alex’s neck, just under the neuro-bridge where he won’t disturb it again. It’s almost soothing. Almost. But Alex whines softly and leans into the touch to make sure the rest of them think it is.

“Oh dear,” Kelico says, “it _was_ in pain.”

“Kindly refrain from placing any more undue burdens on my consort, Miripe,” Teave says.

Miripe scoffs, “Undue burden?”

“Alex is trying very hard to fit in, even though it causes him physical pain to stay connected to the Collective. I don’t need you adding to that pain and making him think he’s being punished even when he’s on his best behavior.”

“No, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Miripe mocks. Still, he finally sits at the table.

Teave offers Wos the same charming, sweet smile that used to make Alex’s heart flutter and says, “Next time, dear, just tell me and I’ll take care of it.”

“I’m sorry for overstepping,” Wos says.

“You meant well,” Teave replies.

He’s testing her. Assessing her. Determining whether she’s a potential threat or an asset. If her presence will give Vanka the edge she’s looking for or not. Alex can’t tell for sure what conclusion Teave has reached, but he seems satisfied for the moment. He steers the conversation back around to Vanka’s interrupted tale and it’s soon as though nothing else had happened. They all resume listening to how she commissioned Wos for a portrait of her younger brother on his return from his first solo scouting mission. How she took interest in her and her art. Alex doesn’t miss the similarities between her story and the one Teave created around them. He’s sure that Teave doesn’t either. As for the rest of them, there doesn’t seem to be even a hint of suspicion. Even if they do notice, there are enough differences that it could be passed off as coincidental.

Either way, Vanka’s plan seems to be working. The group is pleased with her story, welcoming to Wos. They ask her questions—about her art, mostly—and she answers politely. Speaks only when prompted, keeps her answers short enough to show she knows her place. Her outburst has already been entirely forgotten and Alex is almost jealous. His mistakes are met with quick, harsh retribution. If _he’d_ spoken to _anyone_ like that—or even at all without permission—he’d be back in the harness by now. Teave has, more than once, forced him to wear it—and other bindings, sometimes—out to dinner parties and small scale events and even when he’s hosted his own gatherings.

According to Endy, that’s not commonplace anymore; publicly punishing one’s consort is largely a thing of the past. Modern antaran etiquette usually considers domestic discipline a private affair. There had initially been whispers throughout the Court, she said, that Teave’s openness about it was foolish; he was, after all, broadcasting Alex’s disobedience to everyone who already assumed he could never be trained. But it’s worked in his favor, showing off his confidence and his commitment. Reminding them that while his decision to marry Alex is a massive breach of their ways, his dedication to tradition still holds true. After all, their ancestors used to parade their consorts around in chains all the time. Teave is just returning to their roots to prove his point, and everyone seems to respect him all the more for it.

Eventually the guest of honor is brought out for them to meet. The members of House Sepsimia look proud to be revealing their newest member as they gather on the steps leading into the castle. They’re arranged with the most _important_ members in the front, those less so toward the back. Neither Queen Maga nor Poplital, however, are present just yet. The new parents—in matching pantsuits that seem to change color every few minutes—are front and center, their bundle of joy in his mother’s arms. The tiny lump of a baby looks both hilarious and adorable in his frilly pink dress and wrapped in a rainbow blanket. Everyone coos and claps quietly at this small glimpse of him, but he seems more interested in trying to pull the oversized flowers off of his head. Alex almost can’t believe that this little being, who can barely do more than squirm and fuss in his parent’s arms, will one day grow into another of these cold-hearted conquerors. 

As the soft applause settles, Poplital steps to the front. Her dress is a vibrant red, covered in flowers and giving a delicate appearance that contradicts everything about her. She takes her place beside the parents and the rest of her family bows as Queen Maga makes her way through them. Her white gown is littered with gold gems, her gold crown embedded with countless colorful diamonds. A hush falls over the crowd as they wait for her to speak.

“Honored guests,” she begins, “I welcome you today as House Sepsimia shares the joy of its newest member with you.”

More polite clapping.

“Born one month ago to my grandson, Daviper, and his consort, Keloe, he shall someday carry on the glorious traditions of the Collective Consciousness and add to the might of Antar.”

The crowd barely restrains itself this time, only just keeping the noise level appropriate for the baby. Poplital takes the baby from his parents and rests him over her shoulder.

Queen Maga gestures to her, “I present to you, Dorum the Third of House Sepsimia!”

At that Poplital steps forward and lifts the baby up for all to see. The crowd cheers in earnest now. And despite all of the conditioning, all of the warnings and how much he knows he’s not supposed to, Alex bursts out laughing. He can’t help it. Because of course this impossibly powerful space empire shows off their newborns by reenacting the damn _Lion King._ Of _course_ they do. He buries his face in his hands, trying to stifle his laughter but it’s no use. Most of the people around him don’t notice, too busy in their excitement at seeing the baby properly for the first time. In hearing that he’s been named for the Queen’s late husband. A handful do notice though. Alex can hear someone huffing that he’s being rude, another asking Teave if he’s ill. Ever the quick thinker, Teave assures them that it’s quite common for humans; it’s just his _simple minded joy_ that has him laughing. They take him at his word. The person who inquired over his health calls it endearing. The one who called him rude mutters that humans are stupid. Alex doesn’t care. He’s got The Circle of Life playing in his head and he can’t stop picturing Poplital as a baboon. 

An image that quickly fades as Teave’s mind enters his. Everything goes black. He can neither see nor hear. All he can feel is Teave, controlling him from inside. He’d said back on Earth that going _backstage_ was difficult. That assuming total control over a person required their mind to be tampered with, their consciousness altered. What he’d neglected to mention was that that condition does not apply to the Collective Consciousness. Those with higher ranks within it can freely impose their wills upon those who are lower. Teave and the rest of the Council are second only to the Queen. Alex is the absolute lowest. When he wears the neuro-bridge, anyone— _anyone_ —within the Collective can take his will from him at any given moment. It’s only respect for Teave that prevents them from even considering it. But Teave himself? He can—and _has_ —do so whenever he pleases. Whenever he deems it necessary. And apparently, this is one of those moments.

He has no way to know what’s happening around him. What people are doing, saying. How much time is passing. What his body is doing. Someone could be stabbing him right now and he’d have no way to know. He is at Teave’s mercy—or lack thereof—in every way. Punishment for the outburst. It doesn’t matter that he was able to explain it away, that it’s now just another _cute_ thing about him. He disrespected antaran tradition. Disrespected the Queen’s family. Put Teave in the position that he needed to explain it away in the first place. 

Alex wants to scream. Being trapped like this, a passenger in his own body, is hell. He’s not sure which is worse, when Teave deprives him of his consciousness altogether like this, or when he forces him to watch. To see the world, witness his body’s actions while he’s powerless to control it. On the one hand, it’s horrifying and humiliating, but on the other, at least he _knows_ what’s happening. When his senses are completely taken, he has no idea what’s happening to him. What he’s being made to do. He can’t even ask Endy to tell him; Teave has given her explicit orders to stay silent on the matter. Either way, taking his will from him is the worst of Teave’s torments.

No.

Second worst. Nothing, he thinks, will ever top that day in the Dark Room. At least while he’s being controlled like this there’s an end in sight. Teave can’t keep it up forever. Sooner or later, he has to let go. Has to give Alex his mind back. It never lasts more than a few hours. If it did, Alex would not survive it; the strain on his body would be too much. The Dark Room on the other hand, well … 

The less he thinks about it, the better. 

It's always a strange feeling, his senses returning to him. Like waking up yet not. It's as though he blinks and he's suddenly in a new place. He's lost time before—dissociative episodes and heavy medications right after his injury—but even that can't compare. Can't compare to the surreal feeling of his mind being turned back on while he's fully aware that it was off in the first place. 

As his senses return, he finds himself with his back pressed against a wall. Teave is on him, pinning him in place and kissing him ferociously. To his horror, Alex realizes he's kissing back; moaning against his lips and clinging greedily to him. With a muffled gasp, he freezes and tries to get a look around them. They’re indoors. An elegant room he doesn’t recognize, so it hasn’t been long enough that they’ve returned to Castle Esmarch. Realizing they’re alone, he releases his grip on Teave and drops his arms to his sides. Waits for Teave to be finished, resists the urge to try and push him away. It doesn't take more than a few seconds. 

“Don’t you _ever_ do something like that again,” Teave growls, his face inches from Alex’s.

“I’m sorry,” Alex gasps, struggling to catch his breath. 

“How _dare_ you stand there and laugh? How dare you _compare_ us to some idiotic _cartoon?”_

“I’m sorry,” Alex repeats. “I didn't mean to. I wasn't thinking.”

“No, Alex, you _were_ thinking, _actually._ And that's exactly the problem,” Teave says. “You have a bad habit of _thinking_ when you should be _behaving._ Am I going to have to start suppressing your mind every time we go out?”

“No,” Alex pleads, “please, don’t. I’m sorry, Teave, I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Alex,” Teave warns.

“I’ll be good,” Alex whispers.

“The harness. Ten days. Complain and it’ll be the _only_ thing you wear the next time we go out.”

Alex swallows the lump in his throat and nods obediently. Part of him thinks Teave might be bluffing; he’s always been possessive, practically bearing his teeth at anyone who so much as glances at Alex. But he’s also a sadist, through and through, and he so dearly loves to watch Alex suffer. To torment and humiliate him. Alex doesn’t want to find out which side of Teave is stronger.

They return to the garden, Alex following a step behind as he’s supposed to. He’s surprised to see that very little—other than baby Dorum’s presence—has changed. Teave can’t have had his mind under his thumb for more than an hour or so, then. A few people give them suggestive looks as they walk by—one even trying to hide a giggle—and Teave gives a sly grin in return. Alex tries not to imagine what Teave made him do while his mind was gone that’s given them this impression. Someone whispers something about how House Esmarch may be repopulated faster than they thought. He shudders at the thought, relieved that some science fiction tropes really are just that. 

“Are we having a good time today?”

Alex stiffens and finds himself inching closer to Teave. 

Teave turns and offers a blatantly false smile, “Afternoon, Poppy.”

 _“Don’t_ call me that,” Poplital hisses. 

“You’re so touchy,” Teave laughs. “I thought you'd be in an excellent mood with this precious new addition to your family.”

“Because I give a damn about the little runt,” Poplital replies. She smiles coldly at Alex, “But _someone_ certainly seemed amused.”

Hating himself for it, Alex presses himself against Teave’s side and doesn’t look at her. He can’t help it. Poplital is dangerous, no matter how much Teave insists she's just temperamental. Instinct has him wanting to stare her down, to keep his eyes on her at all times. But he can't do that. He has to keep up appearances. So he does the next best thing and sticks close to the only protection he has, even if it is Teave.

“Is that so wrong?” Teave asks, as though he himself hadn’t seen fit to punish Alex for it. 

“I don't appreciate being mocked, Teave.”

“Alex would never mock you, would you, Alex?” Teave asks, draping his arm around him.

Alex shakes his head, still not looking at Poplital. He can feel her icy stare well enough without looking. 

“See, he’s such a good little bunny,” Teave croons, kissing Alex’s temple. 

“Oh cut the crap,” Poplital snaps. “You think I don't _remember_ what this little monster did? You still have the scar from it!”

Years ago Alex had once asked “Trevor” about the small scar on the side of his head. He'd smiled at him in answer and teased that it happened when he fell head over heels for Alex. Alex’s response had been to groan and roll his eyes. He didn't ask again, understanding just how personal scars can be. If only he'd realized then that the little mark is just the size of the rock he'd grabbed that fateful Halloween night. 

“I'm aware,” Teave replies. “I still don't see the problem.”

“That thing does not belong here,” she says. “And the fact that you want to take the _throne_ with it at your side? It's disgusting.”

“The Queen doesn't seem to think so,” Teave points out. 

Poplital huffs, knowing there's no counter she can give to that.

“Lighten up, Poppy,” Teave teases, “it's a party!”

He leads Alex away from her and Alex thinks he hears her mutter something about how things will be changing soon. He must have imagined it. The neuro-bridge doesn't translate anything not specifically meant for him or Teave. He’s just hearing things, too stressed from, well, everything. 

The party progresses as they usually do, with far too much grandeur. There are a few differences than normal due to the baby. There are no costume changes today and they will be remaining in this garden instead of moving inside. And tonight, only members of the High Court will be staying for dinner. For Alex, though, nothing is actually different. He's still expected to stay at Teave's side or wait wherever he leaves him. He still has to be silent unless Teave orders him to speak. He still can't wait for this damn day to end so he can go back to bed. At the moment, he's sitting under a tree near the edge of the garden after Teave was _gracious_ enough to let him take a break from his prosthetic for a few minutes. Endy has applied a red ointment to his stump to soothe some of the pain away and now he can only wait for Teave to come get him. To take him back into the crowd while they make comments about his leg; some will offer pity, others disgust. He tries not to care but they never let up. It's exhausting. He leans his head back against the tree and shuts his eyes, trying to steady himself. 

He groans when he feels someone approach, knowing that after his earlier incident he doesn’t stand a chance trying to bargain with Teave for another minute, and looks up. He freezes. It's not Teave standing over him, it's the Queen, flanked by two servants. Alex feels a sense of panic rise up in him; he's never interacted with the Queen without Teave present. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do, so he follows Endy’s lead; bows his head and scrambles to his knees. It's particularly difficult without his prosthetic on and he needs to brace himself with his hands to keep from falling over. 

Queen Maga sounds amused when she says, “Sit up, human. No need to pain yourself.”

Slowly, uncertainly, Alex does as she says and returns to his original position. 

“Are you able to stand?” She asks. “Or do you need,” she pauses to look at his prosthetic and points at it, “that?”

Alex is once again overcome with gratitude toward Endy as she moves with utmost precision, putting his prosthetic back on him and helping him up. She whispers reminders directly into his mind, everything the Queen will be expecting of him. He assumes the proper posture of a consort and remains silent. Waits for her next move.

To his surprise, she smiles approvingly and holds out her arm, “Walk with me.”

Doing everything in his power to hide his nervousness, Alex takes her arm and they begin walking away from the party. He keeps his eyes forward, not daring to glance back at the crowd. He can already imagine the gossip he’s starting right now. Can sense Teave’s warning look even without seeing him, reminding him that perfection is his only option. As if he could forget.

The Queen leads him out of the garden and toward another one. Alex hasn’t been to this one before. It’s surrounded by an iron fence and filled with beautiful, elegant looking plantlife. Trees and shrubbery arranged neatly as far as the eye can see. As gorgeous as it is, something about it has him on edge. He doesn’t think he’s imagining the way Endy and the Queen’s servants are tense just at the sight of it. He hates being out of the loop, wishes he could ask for an explanation. Knowing Endy, she’d probably have already given him one were he not locked arm-in-arm with the Queen. She won’t dare try to communicate with him right now unless it’s absolutely necessary.

“Tell me, human, has your lord told you about the Quiet Garden yet?” Queen Maga asks.

Alex shakes his head.

She smiles, amused, and says, “Well then, let’s remedy that, shall we?”

Alex almost protests as she waves Endy and the other two away. He doesn’t want to be alone with her. Doesn’t want to be separated from Endy right now. But there’s nothing he or anyone can do about that; what Queen Maga wants, Queen Maga gets. That’s all there is to it. So he steps through the iron gate and into the garden with her, forcing himself not to turn and look back at Endy.

Quiet, Alex quickly realizes, is an appropriate term for the garden. Only a few steps into it and he feels cut off from the rest of the planet. He can no longer hear any of the festivities taking place just a short walk away from them. There’s a stillness to this place, powerful enough that even if he were permitted to speak he wouldn’t want to. Wouldn’t want to disturb the air with any unnecessary noise. They walk in silence along one of the many winding paths, just Alex and the Queen alone in this small world. Eventually they reach an enormous fountain of black stone with gold jewels encrusted throughout. He’s so entranced by it that he doesn’t realize for several minutes that he hasn’t paid the slightest bit of attention to their route. Has no idea which way they came from, how to get back out. It doesn’t _really_ matter, he knows—he’s not about to be walking through unguided, after all—but it makes him paranoid nonetheless.

“What do you think?” Queen Maga asks, startling him from his thoughts.

He opens his mouth to answer, snaps it shut quickly as he remembers he’s not supposed to speak. He stares at her, unsure of what she wants him to do.

“You may speak,” she assures him.

He hesitates still, then admits, “It’s …overwhelming.”

She hums softly as though in approval, “I suppose it is. My ancestors planted this garden centuries ago. In all of our great history, you are the first outside creature to see it, much less set foot here.”

Unsure how to respond to that, Alex looks around, the only way he can think of to show that he understands how significant that fact is. 

“I don’t imagine you had anything like this on Earth,” she goes on, leading him to the fountain and sitting them both at its edge, “but I hope you can appreciate it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispers before he can stop himself.

Unbothered, the Queen continues, “Every plant in here was selected with the utmost care. Not a single one was brought in by chance. It is an absolute work of art, the pride of House Sepsimia. Do you know why?”

She already knows the answer to that. She’s only asking, Alex suspects, because much like Teave, she loves to hear herself speak. Loves to draw things out just for the dramatic effect. He shakes his head, makes sure to devote his undivided attention to her. In response, she reaches her hand out and floats a bright red fruit resembling a pomegranate to her.

“This is from the very first tree planted here,” She explains, the fruit floating between them. “It’s sweeter than any other food in the galaxy, believed by many to be the finest delicacy there is.”

It’s barely an inch from Alex’s face, as though she’s tempting him to take a bite. There’s an alarm blaring in his mind, calling forth memories of his childhood. His father offering him gifts and kindnesses, only to punish him afterward for accepting them without earning it first. He thinks of his first Easter without his mother, of the little gift baskets she’d sent to him and his brothers and the notes inside telling them how much she wished they could be together. How much she loved and missed them. All four Manes boys knew better than to touch the sweets in their baskets without permission. They knew better than to ask, too. They would receive it when Jesse felt benevolent enough to give it.

But while his brothers—older and more seasoned—went upstairs to get ready for church like good little Manes Men, Alex lingered in the kitchen. Asked if he could draw a thank you card for his mother. His father rolled his eyes but said it was fine and gave him a sheet of paper while Alex hurried to get his crayons. Then told him gently that it would make Mommy sad if he didn’t want the chocolates she’d bought for them, and after all how could he thank her if he didn’t even know what they tasted like? Despite his uncertainty, Alex’s little six year old mind took the bait. He watched his father’s face the entire time he unwrapped the Hershey’s kiss, waiting for any sign of disapproval. It came in the form of a hard spanking after he'd finished eating it, one that left him unable to sit comfortably for almost two days and wondering why his father made the suggestion in the first place. 

Queen Maga’s eyes aren’t unlike his father’s right now. Her soft, “elegant grandmother” appearance is nothing but a ruse. She is dangerous. She is Teave. She is Jesse. She is a serpent. Alex presses his lips tightly together and leans away from the offering.

Her cold smile offers him no relief, “Of course, there is a catch. One bite and you’ll drift off to sleep before you can even begin to take the second. And once you’re asleep, asleep you’ll stay. Forever.”

Alex stiffens and has to resist the urge to pull further away from her.

“Only the most skilled of healers can hope to awaken you and even they aren’t always successful. After just a few hours, it becomes impossible. Quite the price for a small taste, don’t you think?”

He nods, unsure of why she’s telling him this.

“Of course,” she says, using her powers to split the fruit open down the middle, its many seeds spilling out, “that’s only the pulp.” Alex watches as one of the seeds floats to her hand and she holds it delicately between her fingers. “The seeds, on the other hand, are quite harmless. Once they’ve been properly cleaned and boiled, that is.”

Alex can’t tell if he ought to be afraid or not. Can’t figure out her motive. Is she threatening him? Or just showing off? Why would she bother to do either, when she’s already declared her approval of him to the entire Court?

“Such is the nature of the Quiet Garden,” She continues, allowing the fruit and its seeds to fall to the ground. She dips her fingers into the fountain, washing away whatever poison residue is on them. “Every plant in here is poisonous. Each and every one. We’ve used these poisons for centuries to strengthen our hold over the universe. Our very _planet_ was designed to conquer, and conquered we have. Do you understand that? Everything in here is deadly, Alex. Everything. Myself as well. But the _real_ question is, does that include _you?”_

Heart pounding, Alex stares at her. He doesn’t know what’s happening. Has he done something wrong? Has she seen through Teave’s carefully crafted story? Is his family in danger now? He doesn’t know what to do.

That icy smile never fading, she runs her thumb along his jawline, “I’m no fool. And neither is Teave. He didn’t bring you here just because of that pretty face. He’s done impeccable work but I see right through that helpless facade.”

She chuckles and taps one perfectly manicured gold fingernail against his forehead. He flinches but otherwise doesn’t move. Doesn’t react.

The Queen hums to herself, “As I thought. Not much going on in _there._ ” She slides her finger downward, flicking the tip of his nose, then pokes his chest, “But in _here?_ There’s something interesting in there.”

Alex looks down at her hand, wanting to keep track of her movements but doing all he can to seem like he’s just curious. Just wondering why she’s touching him. Every bit as empty-headed as she’s just proclaimed him to be.

“It’s no wonder Teave is so certain of you. Such a simple creature, yet so _complex._ Weak and strong at the same time. Beautiful and delicate and deadly. And so, _so_ well trained.”

Part of him wants to be offended, but Alex is too busy trying to figure out what the hell she thinks she’s talking about. Where she’s getting this idea from. Is that really how he presents? Here he thought he was doing a good job of seeming meek.

“There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for Teave, is there?” She laughs and scratches under his chin as one would a cat, “I bet if anyone dared raise a hand against him, you’d bite it off. And yet, you don’t even have the sense to know you _can.”_

“With all due respect, I wouldn’t put my hand so close to that creature’s mouth. Like you said, it might bite,” Poplital says, stepping into view from behind the fountain.

“Poplital,” the Queen replies, “what are you doing in here? I don’t recall asking you to join us.”

“I’m your guard, your majesty,” Poplital responds. “I would be a disgrace if I left you alone with a dangerous creature like that.”

“It knows its place,” Queen Maga says. “Teave has done well.”

“Lord Teave is blinded by lust,” Poplital insists. “And pride. That thing is just another savage animal that mimics intelligence. There’s nothing special about it, Aunt Maga.”

“Do _not_ address me so informally,” Queen Maga warns.

Poplital bows her head briefly, “My apologies, your majesty.”

The Queen goes on, “Its lack of intelligence is hardly news to me; it couldn’t even tell the difference between a kidnapper and a rescuer. But the fact that it tried so hard to run back to Teave’s side? Precious, absolutely precious. Such devotion is hard to come by.”

“It certainly is,” Poplital agrees, her wicked stare making Alex shrink into himself.

He hates how much he wishes Teave were with him right now. Between him and Poplital, there’s no question who the lesser of two evils is. Or at least, the best option for him. For his family.

“If that's all you came for then leave us now,” the Queen orders. 

“Forgive me, but I must insist otherwise,” Poplital replies. 

Queen Maga stands slowly, a frighteningly calm rage radiating from her, “You dare disrespect me?”

“I would never disrespect you, my queen.”

“And yet, here we are.”

Poplital offers a sickeningly sweet smile, “I am only thinking of your safety.”

“My safety is hardly at risk from this—” Queen Maga pauses mid-sentence, swaying in place and resting her head in her hand. “Oh …what is …”

Poplital keeps on smiling, “Are you certain you want me to leave, Aunt Maga?”

 _“What have you done?”_ The Queen’s voice is barely a whisper.

She begins to topple over and Alex jumps on instinct to catch her. He freezes in place before he can, though, and horror washes over him. It's not telekinesis Poplital is using to restrain him, it's the neuro-bridge. She's in his head, overtaking his free will, replacing it with her own. Controlling him from inside. He tries to struggle, to wrench control of his body back as she makes him drop to his knees. It doesn’t help. He is completely in her power. He can’t even flinch at the pain in his leg, his every muscle responding only as Poplital wants them to.

She laughs, “Well that was easier than I thought it'd be. I'm almost disappointed.”

Alex watches her strut over to the Queen’s limp form. After examining her for a moment, making certain she’s fully subdued, she reaches out her hand and something lifts up off the ground beside the Queen. The object in her hand, Poplital turns her attention to Alex. Holds out a syringe and grins.

“Teave isn't the only one who learned a few tricks on Earth. I've been saving this for a long, long time,” she tells him. “I could almost thank you for giving me the opportunity, but it’s your fault I needed to resort to this in the first place, so …maybe not.”

Helpless, Alex waits for her next move. Tries to think of a way out of this. A way to escape from her. To survive. He’s not sure he can. He can’t move, can’t call for help, can’t even stall her. At least if he’s murdered here, this all ends and Teave will have no reason to seek retribution.

“Still,” Poplital goes on, “Teave was right about one thing; you aren’t _entirely_ useless. Now I can get rid of Maga _and_ House Esmarch at the same time. Teave spent years repairing its reputation; it’ll never recover once its sole heir’s savage consort murders the Queen.”

Cold, indescribable cold, descends over Alex. Would she really go that far? Not only killing the Queen—her own aunt—but to frame him for it? And all for what? Revenge? He knows it won't matter what Teave or Endy or anyone else thinks, if she claims she killed him trying to protect the Queen, everyone will believe her. Teave will be disgraced. And he'll take it out on Michael and the others. He'll kill them. Torture them slowly to death. Alex can't let that happen but he doesn't know what to do. He can't stop her. He can't even move. But he has to do _something._ He can't just sit here and die like this. He tries to focus. To move, even just an inch. Still no good. He considers another angle; if he can't escape, he needs help to come to him. He can't call out—it's doubtful anyone would hear him even if he did—but his mind _is_ connected to the Collective Consciousness. It's a weak and limited connection, but it's still there. And though it's only supposed to let him communicate with those who _want_ him to, he has noticed once or twice that he's been able to understand even words not directed at him. He heard Poplital's muttering earlier, after all. And if he can _hear_ more than he's supposed to, maybe he can _speak_ more as well. It doesn't have to be much; all he needs to do is let someone know he needs help. 

He thinks about Endy, about the way it feels when her mind enters his. She does it frequently, so the connection should be there. Should be strong. He just needs to find it. To follow it back to her. She's his only chance. His family's only chance. He won't let Teave hurt them. He won't let anyone hurt them. Alien mind control or not, he's not about to let it all end this way. 

Just as he thinks he might feel something, Poplital's voice breaks his concentration, his vision going dark, “Oh no, we can't have that.”

It's odd, having a literal mental battle with someone. He can actually feel Poplital's mind pulling his own away from where he needs it to go. He resists, but her power is so much stronger than his mind. He can't do much against her. Still he struggles. He won't give up without a fight. He won't go down without giving his all. He won't let this be easy for her. 

_“It'll be easy,”_ her voice echoes through his mind. _“Just grab it and go.”_

He can see someone. A man. Alex doesn’t recognize him. Long red hair, blue eyes, at least a decade older than Alex is. Who is he? Why is he here? _How_ is he here? Where _is_ here?

 _“Are you certain?”_ The man asks.

_“Of course I am, it's just a human. What can it do?”_

Alex doesn't understand what he’s seeing. Is this some kind of dream? A hallucination? It doesn’t matter. He has to get away from here. He has to get away from Poplital. He has to get away.

The other man vanishes and the world goes dark again.

_“What’re you doing?”_ Poplital demands. _“You’re letting it get away!”_

Another image forms. Teave appears in front of him. On Halloween, blood trickling down the side of his face. Hunched over on his knees, clutching at the wound on his head. It’s a bizarre sight. Even more bizarre—surreal, almost—is that Alex can see himself running away with Michael on his back. Are these …Poplital’s memories?

_“Leave it be,”_ Teave replies.

_“What? It has your brother! Why let it go? We can kill—”_

_“You’ll do no such thing,”_ Teave pants. _“Let the little beast go. It’s earned a sporting chance.”_

_“A sporting chance?”_

Teave rights himself and flashes a predatory grin, _“I think I’m starting to consider the idea of a pet human after all.”_

More scenes flash through his mind. He can feel Poplital’s annoyance and mounting frustration as Teave insists on staying on Earth longer. As he continues observing his brother and cousins without making another attempt to bring them back home. As he begins to obsess over one human who ruined an otherwise perfect plan. He can feel her confusion when, back home at last, Teave decides he wants to go _back_ to Earth; not for Rath or Zan or Vilandra, but for the damn _human._ And he _keeps_ going back, longer and longer trips each time, his obsession with the human becoming more despicable by the day. Until finally he comes home for real, only he has the human with him. Not as a prize or a pet, no, he announces his intention to _marry_ it. 

He’s out of his mind. It was bad enough when he was obsessed with the idea of taking the human as a pet. But to marry it? To try and make it one of _them?_ It’s disgusting. An outrage. He’s gone too far now and she has to do something about it. She’ll never get what she’s worked so hard for at this rate. Fate is on her side, she learns, when a lowly servant lets slip a massive secret; the heathens are still alive. Still seeking to overthrow the Collective. Poplital knows an opportunity when she sees one.

The Alighting spy is suspicious at first but only at first. She convinces him easily enough with the promise of an easy victory. Capturing Teave’s human and holding it for ransom won’t be difficult, even for them. He doesn’t need to know, of course, that their victory will be a short-lived one. She can use what she’s learned to her advantage, to capture their spies and fetch the human before they can even make their ransom demands. She’ll be a hero and Teave will be ruined. Disgraced. He’ll lose everything. Serves him right for his foolishness. As for the human, well, she doesn’t really care what becomes of it after that. Whether it’s put down or put on display in the Queen’s menagerie, it makes no difference to her.

But the human is more resilient than she expected. It escapes on its own. It survives the Dark Room with enough sanity to reveal the truth. Perhaps what happened that night at the party wasn’t a fluke after all? No. The human is just lucky. And its luck will run out. She is a Princess of Antar, an executioner. She will not be outdone by a human. She will not lose…

Alex gasps, his mind snapping back to reality. He’s on his back on the ground, the world spinning wildly like he’s just stepped off some cheap carnival ride. He can’t tell where Poplital is, but he can hear her groaning in pain and struggling to catch her breath. And he can move again. A fact he does not let slip away; he hurries to pry the neuro-bridge off, severing his connection to the Collective and cutting off Poplital’s ability to take over his mind. She still has the advantage, but he has a much better chance of surviving if he at least has his free will.

“You awful, wretched little thing,” Poplital growls.

Turning his head, Alex sees her pushing herself off the ground, a drop of blood sliding out of her nose.

She wipes it away and snarls, “How _dare_ you? Going into _my_ head? How _dare you?”_

Alex groans, his head still spinning, “You started it.”

“Insolent little slut,”" Poplital hisses, standing up in shaky legs. 

“Look lady,” Alex says, forcing himself to sit up, “if it's Teave you want, you can have him. I didn’t ask for this and you know it.”

“Teave?” She laughs mockingly. “You think this is about _Teave?_ Like I'm some scorned lover?”

“Then what do you _want?”_

She stalks toward him, “I _want_ my _throne.”_

“What the hell does that have to do with _me?”_ Alex demands. “I’m not keeping you from it!”

“You idiot,” Poplital sneers, _“Teave_ was my chance to get it! The crown almost never chooses a member of their own family to succeed them. And with so many strong contenders from all the houses, there was no way Maga would have changed that. So I took steps.”

“That's why you wanted to marry Teave,” Alex realizes. 

“I had to make a few moves to ensure he'd be named successor. Remove a few obstacles, like old Micon.”

“Vanka’s uncle?” Alex asks. 

“He was the favorite by a long shot. With him gone it gave everyone else a better chance, and I knew Teave would be clever enough to make his way to the top of the list. And _he_ knew how much he owed me for it all. It was an easy agreement; a marriage of convenience.”

“But …that still wouldn't get you the throne; you'd just be his consort.”

“A technicality easily remedied,” Poplital replies. “If the crown should die before choosing a successor, their consort may assume the throne temporarily while a replacement is determined. As a member of the High Court, it would be easy for me to convince the Council that I should remain.”

“Hell of a plan,” Alex says, trying to figure out one of his own. He just needs a little time and fortunately for him, Poplital seems all too willing to give it. 

“Then _you_ came along and ruined it on me.”

“Me? Do you have amnesia? You were there that Halloween, _Poppy,_ I want literally nothing to do with Teave!”

“Do _not_ call me that,” she snaps. She shakes her head, “It doesn't matter anyway. You distracted him. You _refused_ to learn your place. And now you're here, betrothed to _my_ ticket to the throne.”

“Like I said, you can have him.”

“Too late for that now,” Poplital says. “But there is still _one_ way I can get the throne.”

“By framing _me_ for murdering the Queen?”

“In the event the crown dies without a successor _and_ they have no consort, their executioner takes over. Temporarily.”

“And you'll convince them to let you stay in power,” Alex finishes for her. 

She smirks, “Maybe you really are somewhat intelligent. I can _almost_ understand what Teave’s been talking about all this time. Now the only question left is, do I give myself the pleasure of executing you before my adoring crowd? Or do I leave you in the Dark Room until the end of time?”

Blood draining from his face, Alex inches backwards and breathes, _“No.”_

She takes half a step forward, closing the gap and standing directly over him, “I wouldn't lose a moment's sleep. But then again, just you being alive is dangerous. You have a knack for getting in the way.”

Alex swallows, “Sounds like you've thought of everything.”

“I have, actually.”

“There’s um, there's one thing you haven't considered though,” Alex says, his mind on overdrive. 

He’s at a complete disadvantage. Even without her powers Poplital is a strong, capable fighter. An antaran warrior. Though they may have been evenly matched just a few years ago, Alex is now long out of practice. He’s not in the same shape he was before, doesn’t have the muscle mass he used to. Teave only allows him to exercise enough to function properly, to keep from losing balance on his prosthetic. He doesn’t stand a chance against her. Still, he has to try.

Poplital rolls her eyes, “And what's that, _little bunny?”_

For such an advanced race, it seems antarans are impossibly slow learners; even after all she’s seen of him, Poplital still underestimates him. Enough that she’s unguarded, one leg out in front and supporting the bulk of her weight. Taking the only chance he’ll get, he catches her leg between his and twists. It’s an awkward, painful maneuver with his prosthetic, but his left leg is still strong enough to throw her off balance. She topples, bested by her arrogance the same way she and Teave had been that night so many years ago. As she hits the ground, Alex bashes his elbow into the side of her head. He goes for a second hit, but she throws him off of her before it can land. 

He hurriedly stumbles to his feet, knowing he has mere seconds to decide on his next action as she clutches her head in pain. Fight, or run. He doesn’t know that he can beat her, and if he loses it means death. Or worse, the Dark Room. But he also doesn’t know if he can outrun her or how to get back to the garden’s entryway. And if she catches him, the result will be the same. No matter what he does, if he can’t get to Teave before Poplital overpowers him again, Alex’s fate is sealed.

Realization hits and makes the decision for him. It doesn’t matter whether he bests Poplital or escapes her, it all depends on what happens to Queen Maga. If the Queen dies, it’s his word against Poplital’s. And no one is going to believe Alex over her. He doubts even Teave could find a way to spin it to prove his innocence. The only chance he has to save himself, to save everyone he loves, is to save the Queen.

He moves as fast as he can to her side, relieved that her breathing is still steady. And that her gown is far simpler and lighter than the ones she usually wears. He heaves her up onto his back and takes off down the path they'd come in from. There are too many twists and turns through the labyrinthine garden for him to figure out the correct way, at least not without stopping to think it over. Something he has no time for. So he picks one and hopes for the best, hearing Poplital not far behind him. He doesn't have the same strength, speed or stamina he used to and curses Teave for rendering him so powerless. But the odds have always been against him, he reminds himself, and he's not dead yet. Giving up now is not an option. It doesn't take long to realize that the path he chose isn't leading out of the garden, but Poplital is too close for him to turn back. Instead, he ducks into the shrubbery and does everything he can to conceal them. 

Poplital is by no means a stealth predator. Alex supposes she doesn’t need to be, having every physical advantage she needs over him. But it gives him one slight edge, being able to tell where she’s coming from. Hiding is his only defense at the moment, and as long as he knows where she is he’ll have a better chance at _staying_ hidden. She’s muttering angrily to herself as she nears him, words Alex cannot understand. He holds his breath, keeping low and not blinking while she storms passed his hiding spot. In her hands is the enormous sledgehammer she’d wielded at the execution, something she must have hidden nearby. As if Alex needed more to worry about. He waits until her steps fade and he can no longer hear her voice before slowly slipping out and doubling back. Tries a different path.

This one leads him to a space filled with statues. Imposing life-size statues of warriors mid-battle. Alex can only assume they’re all members of House Sepsimia; a commemoration of their most celebrated heroes, perhaps. Something about the place is deeply unsettling in an _uncanny valley_ kind of way. More importantly, it’s definitely not the right way out of the garden. He begins to wonder how long it will be before someone starts to realize that something is wrong. Before someone will wonder whether or not to check on them. Wonders how long before Teave realizes that Alex is no longer connected to him. He knows he can’t depend on any of that, though. He’s got to get himself—and the Queen—out of this mess on his own.

Alex curses under his breath when he hears Poplital shout in frustration nearby. She’s close, too close for him to try going back again. He hurries to find another hiding place and is met with the realization that this particular area doesn’t have enough shrubbery to conceal them both together. He’s going to have to improvise, then, and fast. Finding a decent place for the Queen isn’t hard; she’s small enough for him to cover her easily in one of the flowering bushes. More difficult is a place for him. Desperate at the sound of Poplital’s steps approaching, he climbs up one of the trees. It’s more than a struggle, but he makes it to the top, where he has a view of the area and can see Poplital without her seeing him. His timing couldn’t be more perfect, as she steps into his view not a moment later.

“I _know_ you’re hiding, human!” She yells. “Come out now, and I’ll kill you _quickly!”_

Somehow, he doubts she’ll keep that promise. He watches her wander around and search for him, her efforts becoming slightly frantic. Alex takes that to mean that maybe there is a time limit after all. A point when _someone_ will come looking for the Queen. He’s not about to let his guard down, though. Especially when Poplital lets out a frustrated groan and swings her hammer at one of the statues. It shatters completely and Alex has to rely on the memory of every awful thing that’s ever happened to him to stop himself from reacting. She’s trying to intimidate him into panicking. Into giving himself away. He’s not going to.

He looks around, hoping that from this vantage point he’ll be able to figure out how to get back to the gate. No good; the canopy of tree tops goes too high for him to see all the way through it. What he can see, however, is a window leading into the castle. There’s a figure inside that Alex can barely make out, probably a servant doing chores. If he can get their attention, maybe they can help him. Can sound an alarm. The problem is, he can’t get their attention without making noise. And he can’t make noise without Poplital finding him. But there has to be a way. There has to be.

Poplital smashes another statue and Alex sees his answer. The heavy, shattered remains of the statue are a cacophony as they hit the ground. He may not have the same strength he used to, but he’s sure he can still hurl one of the pieces through the window. He just needs to actually get his hands on one of them. No easy task when Poplital is convinced—correctly, unfortunately—that Alex is hiding nearby and showing no signs of moving on. She begins tearing some of the bushes out of the ground, dangerously close to where Alex hid Queen Maga. If she finds her, kills her, it’s over. 

He shifts and the gold bracelets around his wrist shift too, clinking together softly. Poplital stops and whips her head around, trying to find the sound. She dismisses it after a moment and goes back to searching. It gives Alex an idea. Slowly, painfully slowly, he begins to slide the bracelets off. One by one he collects them in his hand, praying that she won’t hear his movements at all. Once he has them all, he takes a deep, steadying breath and flings them all as far as he can. The noise is impossible to miss as they land somewhere among the flora and to Alex’s relief, Poplital takes the bait. She runs toward the sound and he rushes down the tree to grab one of the broken statue pieces. The second he has one, he hears her shout and footsteps rushing back toward him. He starts climbing back up again, but he’s not fast enough this time.

_“Gotcha!”_ Poplital yells, her power grabbing hold of him.

Desperate, he throws the stone piece at the window. The angle is off and it’s a far sloppier throw than he would’ve liked, but it hits. It doesn’t quite go all the way through, but as he falls Alex is pretty sure it’s become lodged in the glass. It’s the last hope he has, as he hits the ground hard. Pain ripples through him. He wouldn’t be surprised if his back is broken. He definitely has a concussion, based on the way his head snaps against the ground and the world blinks out of focus for a few seconds. Poplital storms over, her sledgehammer raised high, cursing in antaran. He rolls, barely avoiding a fatal hit, but the hammer still grazes his arm. It’s enough to break it and he cries out, clutching his limb to his chest. 

Poplital drags him back onto his back. He expects her to use the hammer to finish him, but instead she crouches over him and wraps her hands around his neck.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” she growls.

He grabs at her hands. Useless. His arm feels like it has a thousand shards of glass inside of it. Is that how Michael felt when his father brought the hammer down on him? The sound of Michael’s scream and the sight of his bloodied hand force their way into Alex’s mind. It takes everything to ignore them. He tries to remember everything he’s been trained to do in a situation like this. Hopeless. He can’t focus. Something about the elbows. A weak point there. Would that even work on an antaran? His head hurts. His back hurts. His prosthetic is twisted the wrong way. There are spots in his vision. Is this how Michael felt when Teave was torturing him? The image of him, bloody and broken, and the sound of his gasps and whimpers take over where his father’s handiwork had been. This time Alex can’t block it out. Can’t focus on anything but what Teave did to Michael. To everyone he loves. Because of him.

“Aw,” Poplital mocks, looking at the image in his mind, “is that what happened? Did Teave kill your _Michael_ and bring you here? Poor little bunny rabbit. Don’t worry, you’ll be with him again.”

A brand new sense of urgency overcomes him. He doesn’t want Poplital seeing this. Doesn’t want her to look any further into his head and learn the truth. He can’t imagine what horrors _she’d_ inflict on Michael and the others if she finds out … 

He dares not finish the thought. He reaches up with his good hand and claws at her eyes. She shouts and tries to pull away, but his arms are longer than hers. She has no choice but to release him. The reprieve lasts less than a heartbeat, enough for him to get in a single breath, before she uses her powers to pin his arm down again, resumes strangling him. The sound of his name being called from somewhere far away is the last thing he hears before there’s nothing left.

***

He’s warm. Comfortably, wonderfully warm. There’s something around him. Arms; a strong, warm pair of arms. Someone is holding him close, protectively. Running a soothing hand through his hair. A smooth voice whispers his name softly. He feels safe. Safe enough to let his eyes flitter open slowly. There’s a face over his. A beautiful, handsome face wearing a gentle expression. Hazel eyes filled with concern stare down at him. Alex smiles.

Michael.

He doesn’t know where he is or how he got here. He doesn’t care. If he’s in Michael’s arms then nothing else matters. Everything is good when Michael is holding him. He reaches out, cups the side of his face. Strange, though, that Michael’s skin is so smooth. When did he shave his beard? Alex blinks, trying to focus better. Is Michael’s nose slightly less crooked than he remembers? And why is his hair so short? Where are those perfect curls? Something isn’t fitting into place. He blinks again, his vision clearing more, and he understands.

“Teave.”

“Shh, I’m here, little bunny,” Teave says. “You’re safe now.”

With Teave’s help, Alex sits up and slowly gets his bearings. He’s in Teave’s lap. They’re on a sofa in a grand room he doesn’t recognize. It’s style doesn’t quite suit Teave’s tastes, so he doesn’t think they’re in Castle Esmarch. There are servants nearby, Endy among them. The only one he recognizes. She’s watching him with fear-filled red eyes, as though she’s just been crying. But there’s relief in her features too. He tries to think of a reason she’d be so upset.

“Do you remember what happened?” Teave asks, rubbing his back gently.

Alex shakes his head, “No …I …”

His head is fuzzy.

“How about that?” Teave asks. He points behind them, “Do you remember that?”

Alex looks to where Teave is directing him. A window. The glass is full of cracks, a jagged piece of stone the size of a softball stuck in the middle of it. He doesn’t understand. What does a broken window have to do with him? It does though. It does have to do with him. He’s sure of it. Did he do that? Yes, he thinks he did. But why? Why did he break that window?

“I did that,” he whispers.

“Yes,” Teave replies, “you did. Do you remember why?”

“I …I needed help …”

Teave nods, “From?”

It takes a long few minutes of concentration, but the memory finally clears, “Poplital. She, she tried to …she tried to kill us. She wanted to frame me. She wants to be queen. The Queen. Poplital poisoned the Queen. She …killed Vanka’s uncle. She wanted to kill you too. She did it to be queen.”

He’s rambling. He can’t stop. Everything Poplital revealed to him just spills out. Her plan to marry and kill Teave. Her role in Alex’s abduction and Micon’s death. Her attempt to murder the Queen. He repeats himself multiple times, going on like a broken record until Teave finally stops him.

“It’s alright, Alex,” he soothes, pulling him into a tight embrace. “You’re okay now. You’re safe. Queen Maga is safe. You saved her. You’re a good bunny.”

“What happened to Poplital?”

Teave sighs, “She got away. But don’t worry, she has nowhere to go. We’ll find her. She can’t hurt you anymore.”

Hating how comforting Teave’s touch is right now, Alex leans into him, rests his head on his shoulder and whispers, “Why does everyone on this planet keep trying to kill me?”

Teave snorts, “Just lucky, I guess.”

“That’s not funny.”

“No,” Teave agrees, “it’s really not. They underestimate you, my love. They think you’re my weak point. If they knew anything about you, they’d know better. Underestimating you is deadly.”

“That _is_ funny,” Alex mutters.

Teave laughs, “I’m not joking this time, bunny. That’s twice now someone has tried to use you to ruin me and take over the planet. But it’ll never work. You’re too strong for that.”

Alex doesn’t think that’s the case. It’s not strength that saved him. Just luck. If he were strong, none of this would be happening in the first place. But he’s not, and it is, and he has no choice but to accept Teave’s praise. To accept his assurance that Poplital is out of the picture now, no longer a threat to them. He doesn’t think that’s true either, but he can’t argue. He can only rest in Teave’s arms, the closest he’ll ever be to safe on this planet, and hope that whatever comes next, he can still protect his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for the obligatory antaran fashion show!
> 
> Alex's ensemble:  
> 
> 
> Endy/the servants:  
> 
> 
> Teave:  
> 
> 
> Kelico & Isdey:  
> 
> 
> Vanka & Wos:  
> 
> 
> Miripe & Meltru:  
> 
> 
> Poplital:  
> 
> 
> Queen Maga:  
> 
> 
> and, of course, the baby lol:  
> 
> 
> Stay safe, everyone, COVID isn't over just because 2020 is and there's a vaccine.


End file.
